


Tomorrow Is Another Day

by charlesdk



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Steve Rogers, Attempt at Humor, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Coming Out, Depressed Steve Rogers, Disabled Character, Dogs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay Bucky Barnes, Getting Together, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Minor Peggy Carter/Angie Martinelli, Minor Riley/Sam Wilson, Multi, Mutual Pining, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Oblivious Bucky Barnes, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Pining, Pizza Is Everyone's Best Friend, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tattoos, Texting, Trans Male Character, Trans Steve Rogers, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, so slow I aged 70 years writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-06 18:13:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 75,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8763715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlesdk/pseuds/charlesdk
Summary: When Bucky got the door shut in his face by a tiny, barely awake blond, he never thought that said tiny blond would become such an important part of his life. Or that he would fall deeply, hopelessly in love with him way too quickly.





	1. Bucky

When Bucky first moved into this two bedroom apartment in Brooklyn Heights, he had kept it as spotless as a one armed veteran with the tendency to simply not give a shit could possibly manage. He put plates and glass and utensils straight into the dishwasher the moment he was finished with them, cleaned the kitchen right after cooking, regularly cleaned the bathroom, kept his bedroom tidied, all that crap.

His therapist, the one that had been assigned to him after he had returned from his tours and the one he had stuck with, had been the one to suggest it to him during one of the session after his return from the hospital, sans an arm and a bucket load of PTSD to deal with. Bucky had snorted, rolled his eyes, and told her, in a mocking tone, “Yeah, right. What's next, yoga?”

Joke's on him, though. As it turned out, both cleaning _and_ yoga did wonders for him and his mood and restlessness. But not easily. Nothing's easy when you've only got one arm and a shitty prosthetic that doesn't do shit to help in any way, other than to keep up appearances.

He made it work, though. Yoga was either done at the gym he went to regularly or in the living room of his apartment, where he could hook up his phone to the stereo and play some music that soothed him, kept his brain from turning silence into negativity or flashing images of previous traumatic events when his arm started to get sore. He always kept his prosthetic off, left it on the dresser in his bedroom.

In the beginning, there had been a lot of trail and error in finding poses and methods that worked with just one arm. But he managed, had found a yoga routine that kept his body and mind somewhat healthy. Well, as healthy as you could get after being through the hell that he had. Putting running and the occasional and proper gym trip with his army buddies and Natasha on top of that, he was in pretty great shape.

When Natasha, his best friend since college, had found out he had picked up on yoga, she had given him a pair of yoga pants. Well, yoga _shorts_. Bucky would even go as far as to call them booty shorts. A week after, she had thrown a shirt at him. The sleeves were roughly ripped off and a Russian endearment was printed across the chest. Bucky had huffed a laugh at it and thanked her.

He never wore anything but that when he did yoga – even though his army buddies liked to tease him about it when he wore it at the gym.

Cleaning, however. Cleaning was pretty much as easy as it had been with two arms, and it very quickly became routine to just stay clean. Everywhere. Now he itched to clean every other day, at least, just to keep himself occupied when his body (mostly his remaining arm) was too sore and exhausted to go to the gym and punch a few bags or spar with Natasha.

Point was, Bucky Barnes was a clean man, who kept his apartment as spotless as he could manage.

And then Clint Barton became his roommate.

“What the fuck, Barton?” Bucky muttered, a clear annoyance portrayed on his face with his brows drawn together and mouth slightly open in a gape. A look of disbelief. Unsurprised, however, he rolled his eyes and groaned at the sight.

The living room was a mess, to put it lightly. The television was on, for one, the screen a paused game of Tomb Raider. The sound was muted, the little red icon blinking in the bottom right corner of the screen.

For another, at least five pizza crusts were laid out on the floor, along with a whole slice, minus maybe a bite or two, of Hawaiian pizza. Most of the games usually stacked neatly on the shelf underneath the television and next to the game systems were currently tossed onto the floor in front of it, along with several controllers and a few of the remotes.

The pillows previously put neatly on the three person couch had been tossed to the other side of the room, near the kitchen, to make room for his unbelievably messy and a hell of a loud snorer of a roommate.

Clint's mouth was hanging open as he snored away, one hand resting on his chest as it rose and fell and the other dangling off the edge of the couch, fingertips brushing against the hardwood floor. One leg was thrown over the back, while the other was bend in an awkward angle. It didn't seem to bother Clint, but then again, it never did.

Lucky – Clint had shown up with the dog several months back, and apparently it wasn't going anywhere. Bucky was surprisingly okay with that. He would never openly admit it, at least not to Clint, but Lucky had helped him more often than he had annoyed him, so the dog stayed – lifted his head from the floor the moment he stepped out, his tail wagging and ears perking.

A pizza crust was laying between his paws and his back legs were on the blanket that usually hang on the back of the chair on the other side of the coffee table. Typical.

Bucky didn't even want to look in the kitchen, scared of the mess.

Stepping over Lucky who continued to look at him with an almost pleading eye, Bucky went over to the couch and flicked at Clint's forehead. “Clint, wake the fuck up.”

Clint made a ridiculous snorting sound as his snoring came to an abrupt stop, and he swatted at Bucky's hand with a grunt. He didn't wake up though, didn't even open his eyes for a split second. He merely mumbled something incoherently, rolled over on his side, and went right back to sleep.

“You better have cleaned up when I get back, Barton,” Bucky told him with a pointed finger, although he didn't expect Clint to hear him. In fact, he was certain he wouldn't hear anything going on. After all, he had noticed the hearing aids carelessly tossed onto the coffee table, laying spread out next to two empty pizza boxes and an X-Box controller.

The fucker.

Bucky gave Lucky a quick head scratch, told him to stay put and maybe take a piss on his owner, and then he was up and out the door, locking it behind him with a shake of his head.

**[** … **]**

Despite knowing the guy for about a year now, Bucky had never actually been to Sam's place. They had talked about it, once or twice, but there had never been more than a polite suggestion between them. Sam had never been to his place for longer than a few minutes either, but that was more Bucky's choice.

When he came to stand in an apartment building's hallway on the third floor and looked from one door to the other, Bucky's palm felt sweaty and his heart was beating stupidly fast in his chest. He was a grown ass man who was finally starting to function like a normal human being again, and there he was. Nervous because he was unsure of which door to knock on.

“Breathe,” he muttered quietly to himself as he let out a quick and calming breath and stepped over to the door marked with the apartment number 31. He wiped his slightly damp palm against his thigh, before he curled it into a fist and lifted it to knock on the wooden door.

There was no immediate reply, no “Be right there!” being yelled from the other side of the door. And for a moment, Bucky feared he'd knocked on the wrong door or that Sam was going to ignore him.

But then he heard quiet footsteps coming closer from the other side, and he relaxed. The door handle wiggled, the door didn't budge, and there was an annoyed curse from behind the door. Bucky bit back a snort.

Although the voice had come from behind a thick layer of wood, Bucky didn't recognize it. So not Sam, then. Roommate, maybe? Sam never mentioned a roommate before. Could be Riley, Sam's partner and definitely not better half – Bucky hadn't met him but he knew Sam and Sam was great, so he just assumed.

Bucky took half a step back, when he heard the lock turn. The door swung open a second later and oh. That was definitely not Sam.

This guy was _tiny_. Short and skinny with a mess of blond hair on top of his head, surrounding his pale face like a glowing fire. Stormy blue eyes were squinting at him through a pair of hipster glasses, pink lips pulled into a thin line. His thin arms were covered in tattoos, a few on his skinny legs as well.

The shirt the guy was wearing – some symbol on the front of it that Bucky didn't recognize – was at least two sizes too big, floating around his slim body like a blanket. His skinny legs were bare, half of his thighs covered by a pair of plain, light blue boxers, and his feet were bare as well.

His one arm hang loosely to his side, ink on his fingers, while the other was raised, hand grabbing the side of his glasses to push them further up the bridge of his nose.

He was fucking adorable, that was what he was. Adorable and stunning, and Bucky was weak for cute boys.

“What?” the guy said, voice rougher and deeper than Bucky would have imagined for a guy his size. And also extremely annoyed, as was the way he was looking at him.

“Uh, Sam Wilson live here?” Bucky asked, trying not to feel intimidated by this tiny blond glaring daggers at him.

The guy grunted, hand dropping from his glasses. “Wrong door,” he muttered and gestured to the other side of the hallway, to the door with the apartment number 32 marked on it.

Bucky turned to give the door on the other side a quick glance. He had gotten the door number wrong, after all. Damn it. Wincing, he turned back around, an apology already formed on his lips. Except he never got anything more than the first syllable out, before the door was shut in his face.

Bucky stood there, stunned, for a moment before he huffed. Well, that was a bit... rude and unnecessary.

When he knocked on the door to 32, however, Sam was the one to open it and greet him with a quick of a brow and a curious look. “The hell's gotten you looking like a kicked puppy, Barnes?” he asked, stepping aside to let him in.

Bucky stepped inside with a shrug. “Nothing, just...” He paused, waving his real hand around. “Your neighbor seems nice, 's all.”

Closing the door, Sam let out a puff of air, the corners of his lips tugging back into a grin as he turned to him. “Did you go knocking on my neighbor's door?” He shook his head, the grin turning amused. “Man, if he was an ass to you, that's your own fault. Steve doesn't work properly before ten am.”

Bucky made a low noise in the back of his throat, front teeth lightly digging into his bottom lip. Steve, huh? Kinda fit him, now that he thought about it.

“Coffee?” Sam offered, already heading further into the apartment and heading straight for the kitchen area.

“Yeah, thanks,” Bucky said and followed him. He stood quietly and watched Sam start the coffee machine for a few minutes. “He single?”

Sam stopped, hand hovering over the button on the machine, and slowly, he lifted his head and turned to him, a look of narrowed eyes directed at him. “Do not screw my neighbor, Barnes, that guy is like a brother to me.”

Bucky held up his hand, the fake one hanging loosely and uselessly by his side. “I wasn't gonna!” Sam's eyes narrowed at him, and he gave him a deadpan look in return. “C'mon, I ain't like that. Under different circumstances, I'd have asked him out or something. But,” he trailed off, gesturing to the prosthetic replacing his left arm as an end to his sentence.

Sam's eyes flickered to it for a second, and the subject of Steve the Rude Neighbor was dropped. “Stark got the new one ready yet?” he asked and turned to grab two mugs, while the coffee was brewing away in the machine.

Bucky shrugged and leaned back against the kitchen counter. “Said it'd be ready soon. No idea when that'll be. He didn't even give me an estimated date or nothing.” He paused to huff, his next word coming out in a mutter, “Dick.”

Sam let out a short laugh and poured the brewed coffee into two mugs, handing one to Bucky who took it with a quiet thank you. “Hey, you knew what you signed up for,” Sam said, a crooked grin on his lips. “The man's crazy. Talented and generous, sure, but crazy. Crazy busy, too.”

Bucky hummed in agreement and brought the mug in his hand to his lips, taking quick and careful sip of the steaming coffee. His eyes wandered to around the place, taking it in. It was nice. A lot cleaner than his own place at the moment, thanks to Clint. “Riley not here?”

Sam shook his head. “Physiotherapy,” he explained, then gestured toward the living room area, and Bucky followed him in there.

“Damn,” he said as he sat down. “I was really looking forward to finally meeting your better half.”

Sam tsk'ed at him and lightly kicked his knee from where he sat across from him. “Please. We all know I'm the better half of us. Ain't no white boy better than me, Barnes.”

“'Cept me, Wilson.” Bucky grinned at him from over the rum of the mug.

“No, you're the worst of them. The absolute worst human being I've ever met, I swear.”

“You know you love me,” Bucky said, making kissy faces at him.

Sam gave him a deadpan look until he was done, then lifted a finger to point at him. “The worst.”

Bucky laughed quietly at him, the grin returning to his lips, before he took a sip. “Seriously though, when am I meeting Riley? A year of friendship and you still haven't introduced me to your boyfriend. You embarrassed of me, Wilson?” His tone was teasing, as was his grin, but the voice in the back of his mind really needed to know.

“Hell yes, I am,” came Sam's reply, and Bucky couldn't help but glare halfheartedly at him. “If you actually come over when I invite you to dinner, you'd have met him months ago. But nope, Bucky Barnes is too important for the likes of us, apparently.”

“When the hell did you invite me to dinner, anyway?”

Sam lowered his mug from his lips, resting it on his thigh. “Second time I met you,” he held up his free hand, flicking a finger up and then another, “after you reunited with Dugan, I asked both of you over for dinner sometime. 'Bout three months ago after your break down at the VA. Two weeks ago, too. Do you need me to keep going?”

Bucky huffed at him, sinking into his seat a little more. “Shut up. Those were not invites.”

“The hell do you call those then?”

Not knowing the answer, Bucky just shrugged and busied himself with the coffee.

Sam did the same, and they sat in silence for a minute or two. “Invite's still standing, just so you know. Anytime you're ready for it.”

“Anytime, huh?” Bucky leaned forward in his seat and placed the mug on the coffee table, his fingers getting tired of holding it. “What if Riley's got something special planned? Or what if it's you guys' anniversary? 'Cause as hot as you are and as hot as I'm assuming your guy is, I ain't about to be an awkward third wheel for your passionate love making.”

Sam gave him an unimpressed look and asked, “You always gotta be an ass?”

Bucky grinned lopsidedly at him. “Yep.”

Sam scoffed and shook his head. “I hate you.”

“Hate you too, Sammy.”

There was no heat in any of their words, both of them looking at each other with a certain fondness in their eyes.

“You ever gonna cut your hair?” Sam asked several minutes later, when their coffees had gone from steaming to pleasantly warm. “The whole long hair and scruff look ain't gonna work for you much longer.”

Bucky shrugged and ran his hand through his hair. He should have put it in a bun that morning. “I kinda like it, to be honest. Warms my ears.”

“You do realize it's in the middle of summer, right? Aren't you hot all the time, with all that hair in your face?”

“You get used to it,” said Bucky with another shrug. “Besides, I'm working this look and you know it.”

The sound of the front door swinging open interrupted their conversation before Sam could do anything but roll his eyes at him, the sound immediately followed by Sam's name being called out by the interrupter.

Curious, Bucky turned around in the chair he was sitting on just in time to see Sam's rude neighbor shuffling into the kitchen. He looked exactly as he did when Bucky had seen him almost an hour ago, except now a pair of loose, gray sweats were covering his thin legs, hanging loosely around his hips.

And he was wearing a hearing aid too, Bucky noticed even with the distance between them.

“I'm borrowing your coffee,” Steve announced and went straight for the coffee machine without even glancing their way.

“Oh yeah, suit yourself, your highness,” Sam said in a flat tone, his eyes rolling and his hands flying up for just a second. “You ever thought about buying your own damn coffee, so you can stop stealing mine, Rogers?”

Grunting into his cup of steaming coffee that fogged his glasses, Steve flipped him off and then, a little scowl on his lips, he turned to look at him. The scowl disappeared the moment his eyes landed on Bucky. “Oh. I didn't realize you had guests.”

“This, Steve,” Sam leaned forward in his seat, lifting a finger at him, “this is why we knock. Ever heard of that? You should try it sometime.”

Steve's face scrunched slightly, obviously pretending to think about it for a moment. He then shrugged and lifted his mug. “Nah, there's no fun in that.”

Bucky bit back a laugh, and Sam threw his hands up dramatically and leaned heavily back on his head. “Why did I let you have a key? Biggest mistake of my life.”

“Oh, so meeting me isn't the biggest mistake of your life anymore?” Bucky asked, turning to him and grinning when Sam groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I'm hurt, Samuel.”

“Shut your damn mouth, Barnes, or I swear to God, I will kick your ass.”

At the sound of laughter, Bucky turned back around and looked at Steve. Their eyes met, and he watched as Steve flushed a pink color. It was stupidly adorable, and Bucky couldn't help but let a soft smile form on his lips.

“I'm James,” he introduced himself as, taking the first step. His therapist would be proud. “But call me Bucky.”

Steve's brows furrowed, head tilted curiously. “How do you get Bucky from James?”

Bucky heard Sam snort, but he ignored him and said, “Well, you don't. It's from my middle name. Buchanan. Childhood nickname that just kinda stuck.”

“Your name is James Buchanan?” There was an amused grin on Steve's lips.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “James Buchanan Barnes and yeah, I know. My parents think they're funny, haha,” he said dryly, flinging a foot out to kick Sam's leg when he started laughing.

Steve chuckled, ducking his head for a moment. When he spoke again, his face was slightly less flushed and his eyes were on Bucky, a tiny glint in his blue eyes. “Steve Rogers isn't exactly better. It's an old man's name.”

“So it suits you perfectly,” Sam interjected in a murmur, and Steve shot him a sour look.

There was a pause, and then Steve spoke to Bucky again. “I think I owe you an apology,” he said, lowering his mug to the kitchen counter. “It was rude of me to slam the door in your face, I'm sorry. I don't really work properly before ten.”

Bucky waved a hand at him dismissively, shrugging a shoulder. “Don't worry about it. My roommate doesn't work properly without inhaling a whole pot of coffee, so I get it.”

“Well,” Steve picked up his mug again, blowing the steam away momentarily, “I'm still sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Bucky said with a nod.

A silence stretched for a moment, where all they did was look at each other, Steve blushing a pretty pink and Bucky watching him in wonder. Sam was quick to break it, reminding Bucky of his presence.

“Okay, who wants breakfast?” Sam asked and got up, almost empty mug in hand. “You're welcome to stay, Steve.”

Steve hummed softly, thumb running along the rim of his mug. “Well, I already stole your coffee, so I might as well steal your food too.”

Bucky reached over to feel his own mug with his real hand. It wasn't hot anymore so with a sigh, he leaned back in his seat and looked over at the two, his eyes following Sam as he went into the kitchen area. His attention quickly snapped to Steve. The guy was gorgeous, and Bucky wouldn't mind looking at him for hours and hours, watch him smile and laugh and blush as prettily as he did.

Damn cute boys, making him all weak and shit. _Get a grip, Barnes_ , he told himself.

“It ain't stealing if I'm offering it to you,” Sam pointed out, rummaging through the cupboards to find a pan.

“Got a point there,” Steve said and instantly stepped back when Sam nudged him out of the way. “Alright, I can take a hint.” He chuckled quietly and left the kitchen area, joining Bucky in the living room area.

He sat down to Bucky's left, and Bucky saw the moment Steve spotted the prosthetic resting on the armrest. His stomach clenched, he stopped breathing, and he mentally prepared himself for the questions he always got or the “Thank you for your service” that everyone always told him, even though it just made him uncomfortable.

None of that came.

Steve's eyes only lingered on the prosthetic for a second, before he met his eyes and offered him a soft smile, lifting the mug to his lips. “So, how do you know Sam?”

Bucky let out a breath, hoping the sigh didn't sound as relieved as it was. “Met him at the VA.”

There was a scoff from the kitchen, and Sam turned around to give him a look, pan sizzling with bacon. “Please, I saved your ass. You would'a been a complete wreck had I not taken you outside for a breather.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Fine, have your hero moment.”

“Thank you. Just be glad it wasn't as bad as how I met Steve.”

At Steve's groan, Bucky turned to him and grinned slowly when he saw him not only flushing but hiding his face in his free hand as well. “Oh, this I gotta hear.”

“No, you really don't,” Steve muttered behind his hand, his words muffled slightly.

“Steve, if you don't tell him, I will,” Sam threatened, lifting his spatula to point it over at them.

A pause, and then Steve dropped his hand and send Sam a quick glare. “Fine.” He took in a deep breath and sighed, before he looked at Bucky. “It was, what, a couple of years ago? I was stuck on this piece – I draw. Well, I'm an artist, I guess.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky leaned forward, interested. “That's cool.”

Steve shrugged. “I guess so. Anyway, I decided to sit outside for a bit. You know, fresh air and all that. This guy,” he lifted a hand and pointed over at Sam who wasn't looking at them but was grinning down at the sizzling bacon, “comes jogging past me. He sits down under a tree for a breather, and I go over and make fun of his jogging, end of story.”

Bucky blinked at him, watched as Steve blushed and lifted his mug to take a long sip while looking anywhere but at him. “Wow,” he let out in an amused chuckle. “That's terrible, but I still think I've got Sam beat on bad first meetings with you.”

That had Steve chuckling, flush staying. “I don't make good first impressions.”

“Steve,” Sam cut in, turning toward them and placing a hand on his hip. “That's not the whole story. Tell the rest.”

Steve practically whined, brows pinched together. “Do I have to?”

“Now you do,” said Bucky. “C'mon, tell me the rest. It can't possibly be worse.”

“Oh, but it is,” Sam said, clearly enjoying making his friend suffer.

Steve sighed and lifted his gaze to Bucky. “Me making fun of Sam's jog? That was me flirting.”

Bucky blinked owlishly at him for a second or two, before he snorted loudly and disgustingly and laughed, while Sam snickered in the kitchen. “Steve,” he breathed, wiping under his eye with his real hand. “No offense, but you're fucking terrible at flirting.”

Steve send him a sour look, a small pout on his pink lips. Sam was laughing in the background and shouting out his agreeing with Bucky. “Shut the fuck up,” muttered Steve. “He's not single anyway, so it'd be useless even if I was good.”

“Tell him when you admitted you were flirting with me, Steve,” Sam called from the kitchen, tone teasing.

Steve shot him a dirty look. “Are you trying to embarrass me in front of him?”

Sam turned to him, smiling widely and toothily. “Consider it payback.”

Steve groaned. “Fine.” He turned to Bucky, looking annoyed and still flushed. It was cute. “I told him a month into our friendship,” he admitted in a flat tone.

Bucky laughed again.

The conversation flowed easily and shockingly natural between him and Steve, surprisingly. Bucky hadn't done well with people since coming home from fighting a war. Only a select few like Sam, Natasha, and Clint, his army buddies too. Those he could be around and not freak out for at least a few hours. Sometimes he'd go non-verbal, but that wasn't always a problem. At least not with Clint. Sign language came in handy (no pun intended) during those times.

But Steve? Steve was easy to talk to, Bucky found out. Sam mostly stayed out of their conversation, too busy preparing a delicious smelling breakfast for the three of them, and a soon to be arriving Riley, but occasionally he butted in with a comment of his own. Which, more often than not, was a teasing one that had either of them scowling at his back.

The coffee had gone cold – Bucky's mug was half empty, while Steve had barely taken more than three sips of his own – and Steve was mid laugh, Bucky grinning proudly at the joke he had spewed out, when the door opened and someone new arrived.

In came a dirty blond haired man with a tired smile on his lips, supporting his weight on a pair of crutches and legs wrapped in what was obviously Stark braces. Bucky assumed that was Riley, especially because he shuffled over to Sam and pecked him on the lips, both of them smiling sweetly at each other when they parted.

“Smells good,” Riley said, leaning against Sam for a moment. He sighed, nuzzling his nose against Sam's shoulder. “Man, am I tired.”

“'Cause you're getting old,” Steve quipped from the couch, grinning when Riley turned to him. “Welcome to the club.”

“Excuse me, Rogers, I'll have you know, I'm fit as a fiddle,” Riley said, huffing at him. His eyes soon landed on Bucky, and he made his way over with a smile on his lips. “You must be the Bucky I've heard so much about.”

Bucky moved to stand when Riley neared, but he didn't make it more than an inch off of his seat, before Riley threw himself next to Steve on the couch with a heavy sigh, the crutches thrown to the side almost carelessly. With a nod, Bucky turned to Sam and grinned teasingly at him. “Aw, Wilson, you been talking about me?”

“Only to complain,” Sam was quick to say.

Riley made a noise, one hand busy slowly and carefully removing the braces while the other massaged his thigh. “Yeah, he complains about you a lot, actually.” He paused, smiling widely at Bucky. “I like you already,” he told him in a whisper.

“I heard that!” Sam called from the kitchen, and he flung a tiny piece of bacon at his partner. “You're supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side!” Riley grabbed the piece of bacon from where it had landed softly on the cushion next to him and tossed it into his mouth. “Always and forever.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at him, and Bucky caught Steve's eyes, both of them grinning in amusement as they listened to the lovers' quarrel.

“For as long as I carry your pasty white ass when you're too tired, right?”

“And as long as you cook me delicious food,” Riley told him with a sweet smile. “Besides, you love my pasty white ass.”

Sam sighed exasperatedly and shook his head. “Unfortunately, yeah.”

The moment Bucky scooped in a forkful of breakfast a la Sam Wilson, he decided he never wanted to eat anything but that for the rest of his life. He told Sam as much, would have spewed very poetically if he had the talent and if he wasn't busy stuffing his mouth. Hell, he was seconds from just asking Sam to marry him, but the eggs were more important.

“You'd think he hadn't gotten a proper meal in ages,” he heard Sam mutter to the rest of them. He heard Riley make an agreeing noise and Steve snorting.

Bucky's only reaction was to quickly flip all three of them off, before he went right back to shoveling down the delicious breakfast, never once taking his eyes off of it.

His plate was empty, his real hand absently rubbing his full stomach, and his feet were propped up on the coffee table despite Sam's protests, when Steve stood up from the couch.

“I should get going,” he said, tugging down his oversized shirt a little. Bucky's eyes flickered down to the momentarily revealed pale skin along with more tattoos, but he quickly averted his eyes. “Art waits for no man.”

Sam stood and embraced Steve in a friendly hug. Steve was small and skinny, while Sam was pretty tall and muscular, so Steve looked even smaller in the arms of him. Bucky's heart clenched at the sight, and he didn't realize he had been staring until Riley nudged him with a teasing grin on his lips.

The two of them parted, and Steve turned to give Riley's hand a quick squeeze, before turning to give Bucky a smile. “It was nice meeting you, Bucky.”

“You too, Steve.”

The moment the door closed behind Steve, both Riley and Sam let out a long and high “Awww!” and Bucky scowled at the two of them.

When he returned home to his own apartment a couple of hours later, the place was somehow even more of a mess than when he had left. Clint was still lounging on the couch, Lucky now joined on top of him and enjoying the petting he was receiving. Clint was awake though and on the phone. From the dopey look and the way he completely ignored Bucky coming home, Bucky guessed it was Natasha he was texting.

It wasn't until later, when Bucky laid on the floor and played with Lucky while Clint sped through a game of Overwatch, that Bucky realized he had completely forgotten to ask Steve for his number.

Well, it wasn't like he was going to see him again, anyway. Even if he was, this tiny, little start of a crush would go away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All chapters have been written and will be posted frequently. I'm thinking every Monday and Friday, but don't hold me to that.
> 
> The tags will be updated along the way, too.
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://hoechlbutt.tumblr.com/), where I mostly just cry about fictional characters.


	2. Steve

Life had never been kind to Steve Rogers.

Born too early, he had spend the first weeks of his life in the hospital with his mother heartbroken and refusing to leave his side, compromising her own health and well being. The doctors had done everything they could, but they had kept telling his mother not to get her hopes up. Steve's entire body was fragile, organs included. His heart was the weakest, his lungs almost just as weak, and the doctors hadn't thought he was going to make it.

He had, though. He had made it out of the hospital alive, but he hadn't stayed out for very long.

Most of his childhood memories came from within the hospital walls. Frequent ear infections, scarlet fever, heart murmur, asthma, anemia, pneumonia, you name it. There was a flue going around, he would catch it nine out of ten times, even though he hadn't even been around kids who had been sick. And because of his weak immune system, a flu often send him straight to the emergency room.

Even as an adult, Steve dealt with more health problems than anyone should have to. The frequent ear infections as a child had left him partially deaf in one ear, because they hadn't always been able to afford having it treated properly. On top of being color blind (and wasn't that fun when you're an artist) he also had poor eye sight and had to wear what people would call hipster glasses.

His flat feet didn't help with his scoliosis, even though he had worn a back brace for years as a child and it was mostly corrected. His asthma was still a constant problem, he was constantly at risk of pneumonia and a thousand other things, the list was practically endless.

Life, however? Life didn't care. Because life is cruel and ruthless and unfair, and Steve Rogers had been hit with life's cruelty from the day he came into the world.

First day of kindergarten had left him with a black eye and a tooth knocked out. The bullies had taken one look at him and decided to take their anger and rage and frustrations and all around assholery out on the frail and sickly kid with an inhaler clutched in his hand, a hearing aid in his ear, and glasses on his face.

And he always fought back. Because his mother had always grabbed his chin and told him, “You always stand up, Steven,” while she patched him up and comforted him.

While he was sick and fragile in every way possible, Sarah Rogers didn't raise a weak man. She raised a strong one, who never stopped fighting.

The bullying and beating up didn't end in kindergarten. No, the bullies just got bigger and meaner, and Steve learned how to stand up for himself and people who couldn't stand up for themselves. Because Steve Rogers didn't like bullies.

When the bullies thinned out into the dirt bag men of the world, Steve thought life was finally going to give him a break.

That was when his mother got sick. And life decided to take her away from him and add severe depression to the long list of illnesses he had to deal with.

Never the less, Steve Rogers always stood up, always kept fighting, and kept hating bullies.

“The hell you say to me?”

The man was easily twice his size, more in mass of muscle than in height. His entire stance screamed anger, from the way his shoulders were pushed back and his chest was pushed forward to the way his feet were separated like a boxing stance. His facial expression wasn't any better.

“I said apologize to her,” Steve said firmly, holding his ground even as the man stepped closer to him. At least the asshole's attention had shifted from the poor girl further down the aisle to him.

The man gave him a quick once over and scoffed, looking amused and furious at the same time. “Mind your own damn business, kid. Get the fuck out of here, before I punch your face in.”

“I don't think so,” Steve said just as the man was about to turn, the amusement washing away from his face and annoyance and rage replacing it in an instant. “Not until you've apologized to her for being a complete asshole.”

With fury in his eyes and his nostrils flaring, the man stepped forward and raised his arm and clenched fist. Steve clenched his jaw and stood his ground, his eyes closing tightly as he prepared himself for the punch he knew would come.

It never did.

Slowly, Steve cracked an eye open and looked at where he assumed the punch would have come from by now. The other eye followed open when he saw him.

Bucky. Holding a tight grip on the man's lifted arm and with an outright furious look on his face.

“Pick on someone your own size,” he spat out and shoved him away, moving to stand between him and Steve. “And get outta here before I call security on your dumb ass!”

The man harrumphed at him, aggressively tugged his shirt back down, and left them in a grumble. The girl had left a long time ago too, it would seem.

The moment Bucky turned around to face him with a huff, Steve made sure to clench his jaw and send him a glare to show his disapproval of what just happened. “I had it under control, Bucky.”

Bucky blinked at him, brows crawling up his forehead slowly. “Steve, I don't know if you noticed, but he was _twice_ your size.”

“I could've taken him,” Steve said stubbornly, sniffling as he shifted.

“I don't doubt that,” said Bucky, and he sounded so honest and sincere that Steve nearly forgot how angry he was. Nearly. “But you were about to get in a fight in the middle of a grocery store. You would have gotten your ass thrown to jail, probably.”

Steve scoffed. “Wouldn't be the first time,” he muttered, then shook his head and spoke up. “I can fight my own fights. I may look like this,” he gestured to his skinny and short body, “but I'm not weak.”

“I never said you were weak. I'm sure you're tough as nails and could easily beat that asshole or me or anyone else in a fight if you put your mind to it.”

Steve rolled his eyes at him, ignoring the sincerity in his voice because when did anyone ever tell him those things without being sarcastic? Other than when Peggy did, the answer was never.

“Whatever,” he muttered. He shook his head, hurt and angry and annoyed, and he grabbed his cart and moved to continue down the aisle. “Nice seeing you again, Bucky,” he said curtly.

However, he didn't get very far before Bucky stropped him, a strong hand wrapped around his elbow. “Woah hey,” he said, turning him around and giving him a concerned look. “You're not seriously mad at me for breaking up the fight, are you?”

Steve lifted his gaze from the hand wrapped around his elbow to Bucky's pale blue eyes, looking so worried and nervous that it punched Steve in the gut. With a sigh and his shoulders slumping slightly, he shook his head. “No,” he lied. It wasn't a complete lie. He was more annoyed than mad. “I just hate that people take one look at me and think I can't handle myself.”

Bucky nodded and slowly, almost hesitantly, let go of his elbow. “Noted.” A pause, then he continued. “Can't promise I won't come break up a fight if I see you in one, though.”

Steve huffed, finding himself smiling in amusement and the annoyance fading away. “How 'bout you join the fight instead? Give me some back up, maybe.”

Bucky chuckled, and Steve quietly noted how handsome he looked like this. Hair pulled back into a little ponytail, a few strands of hair framing his face. Eyes sparkling despite the heavy bags under them. He was wearing a long sleeved shirt despite the July heat, but Steve had seen the prosthetic replacing his left arm and didn't ask any questions or point it out.

“I think I'd rather stay out of any fight, Stevie,” Bucky said, a smile on his lips. “I may look tough, but I've only got one arm. Only thing I'm fighting these days is a punching bag and my roommate, the human disaster.”

Steve stood and looked at him silently for a moment, brain not fully processing what he had heard. “Did you just call me Stevie?”

“Hm?” Bucky blinked. “Oh.” He winced. “Yeah, I guess I did. Sorry?”

“We've met each other twice, and you're already giving me a nickname?” Steve grinned at him, the grin slightly teasing. “Wow, you sure do make quick moves on a guy.”

Bucky looked at him, eyes wide and round with surprise. He then huffed and shook his head, a smile on his lips. “You're a bit of a punk, did anyone ever tell you that?”

“Oh, two nicknames now? Geez, Buck, take a guy out for dinner first.”

Bucky's entire face practically lit up in a split second, before he let out an amused laugh. Steve felt his knees go weak and his heart stutter. And not because of his heart murmur. “Now who's the nickname giver, huh?” Bucky said, nudging playfully at him and smiling softly.

“Well,” Steve shrugged, turning to grab his cart again, “couldn't just leave you hangin'. Had to give back a little.”

Were they flirting? It felt like they were flirting. Steve certainly was, at least. He doubted Bucky was. A guy like that didn't go for a guy like Steve. Things like that only happened in stories, not in real life.

“Besides,” Steve continued, pushing the cart as he started to walk. Bucky followed him, walking to his left. “Is it really a nickname if I just take off one letter of your name? Wait, Bucky already is a nickname.”

Bucky shrugged and said, “So you made a new nickname out of my old one. In my book, that's still a brand new one and I'll take it.”

Steve let out a small huff, a smile growing on his lips and the annoyance he had felt earlier forgotten. “Sure, Buck.”

They walked in pleasant silence for only about a minute, adding a thing or two to their respective carts, before Bucky spoke again. “So, what did that guy do to deserve the Steve Rogers rage, anyway?”

“He kept bothering the girl even though she obviously wasn't interested,” Steve explained, momentarily stopping his cart to grab a bag of bread. “I overheard her telling him she wasn't interested, and he started calling her a bunch of nasty shit.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “He was disgusting.”

“Man. Now I kinda wish I had punched him square in the face.”

“I would've if you hadn't stepped in.”

“Stevie, I hate to bring it back up, but you're the one who was about to be punched in the face. You weren't even defending yourself, you were just standin' there!” Bucky turned to him, the concerned look back in his eyes. “You do know how to fight, right?”

Steve rolled his eyes, annoyance making an appearance again. “Yes, I know how to fight. Been fighting since I was a kid. Since I was born, even,” he added in a mutter.

“Wait.” Bucky stopped him, worry joining the concern. “You got in fights as a kid too?”

“It's okay,” Steve told him with a shrug. “I was an easy target.”

“That does not make it okay.”

“Maybe not, but there's no changing it now. What's done is done.” He pushed his cart again, continuing through the grocery store.

Bucky caught up to him a moment later. “So, you said you were an artist?”

Steve was happy with the subject change, and they kept a pleasant and easy conversation throughout their shopping. Before they parted ways, groceries bought and in bags, Bucky turned to him and asked for his number.

“I was gonna ask you at Sam's last week, 'cause you're a pretty cool guy,” he said with a shrug and a smile that looked almost shy, “but I forgot and then you left.”

Steve felt his face grow hot, knew his cheeks would be blotchy and ugly at this point, and he tried to will it away and hide it by ducking his head. To say he was used to people actually wanting to hang around him or get to know him would be a lie. He wasn't used to it. Far from it.

As a kid and for most of his teenage years, he hadn't had any friends. No one but the nurses and doctors at the hospital he frequented. Doctor Erskine remained his friend to this day, even. Nurse Temple, too. It was only when he had started college that he had started getting friends. Peggy was the first, Angie was the second, Thor was the third.

Peggy and Angie had moved to London after graduation though, but he still kept in contact with both of them. More Peggy than Angie, because Peggy was his best friend, closely followed by Sam. His first crush and kiss too, and she stuck with him through everything.

Thor had gone and become a tattoo artist, and he had moved to Brooklyn with Steve when Steve moved back, and Thor had met the love of his life, Jane Foster. Thor also happened to have done most of the artwork on Steve's body, including the first tattoo he ever got.

Steve never had much luck in the friend department, nor did he really have any luck in the dating department. Which was probably why Sam hadn't caught on to his flirting when they had first met, but it led to a great friendship, so Steve was okay with it.

To have someone like Bucky willingly ask for a way to contact him after spending quite a while just talking to him while doing something as mundane as grocery shopping, well... who could blame Steve for blushing just a little?

“Sure,” Steve said, lifting his gaze to meet Bucky's, and he offered him a smile, before handing him his phone.

They exchanged numbers – Bucky showed Steve his screen after, grinning widely as Steve scowled at the name he'd given him ( _Punk_ ) and Steve retorted by putting Bucky as _Jerk_ in his contacts – and then they parted ways.

In the end, it only took them seven months to figure out they were it for each other.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who needs an upload schedule lmao i'm just gonna upload whenever
> 
> Liking this? [Reblog it](http://hoechlbutt.tumblr.com/post/154086744638).
> 
> A huge thank you to those who read the first chapter. Your comments and kudos give me life. <3


	3. July, part one

**JULY – MONTH ONE, WEEK THREE**.

Bucky woke up to the sound of something heavy falling, something shattering, and Lucky barking loudly. Immediately, he shot up, hand instinctively reaching out for the gun that wasn't there. He sat frigid and alert, until he heard a familiar groan and a familiar and defeated “Aww, coffee,” and with a heavy sigh, he relaxed and fell back onto his pillows.

He didn't bother checking the time, because if Clint was up, that meant Sam was there and if Sam was there, that meant he would have to get up any minute now as well, no matter what time it was. So there really was no point in falling back asleep, or even trying to.

It didn't stop him from closing his eyes though, hoping he could get just one more brief second of rest.

Raising his arm, Bucky rubbed the heel of his hand against one of his closed eyes, and he groaned when he heard footsteps approaching his door. Human footsteps – shoes on, his brain provided him, the steps quiet but not as quiet as they would have been had they been bare or socked – followed by the unmistakable sound of dog paws against the floor, claws clacking.

He had a brief moment of peace, before there was a knock on the door and Sam's voice calling out, “Cover up, Barnes, I'm coming in!” from the other side. And then the door opened, and Bucky glared at Sam and his smile that was too cheerful for this early in the morning.

The glare didn't soften even as Lucky trotted into the room and moved over toward him, tail wagging wildly behind him and tongue lolling out of his mouth. Bucky grimaced and put his hand in Lucky's face to push him away, when Lucky breathed too close to his face, front paws on the edge of his bed and breath stinking of fish.

“Don't give me that look,” said Sam, leaning against the door frame and the too cheery smile stayed firmly in place. “You knew damn well I was coming.”

Grunting, Bucky sat up and grabbed his phone to check the time. His eyes lingered on the screen for a moment longer, an unopened message from Steve brightening his mood, but only momentarily.

“Yeah, but why it always gotta be so fucking early?” he questioned, voice rough from disuse and sleep. Dropping his phone in his lap, he put his hand on Lucky's head to give him an ear scratch.

“It's literally always been this early,” Sam said with a roll of his eyes. “You'd think that after a whole year, you would've gotten used to it.” Not waiting for a response, he stepped back out into the hall. “We leave in fifteen, and we are not waiting for your slow ass.”

Bucky flipped him off quickly before he disappeared down the hall, Lucky leaving him a second later as well, trailing after a chuckling Sam. He didn't leave his bed immediately. Instead, he took the time to open the text from Steve, a little smile appearing on his lips.

The message was nothing but an image attachment, no description or message otherwise. The image was of a folded out sketchbook, the paper showing a pencil drawing of the Brooklyn bridge with cars zipping back and forth and silhouetted people milling around in the foreground.

It was a sketch, but it was breathtaking.

Bucky's smile lasted until he saw the time stamp on the message.

< **[06:34 AM] Bucky** : if i had any poetic skills id tell u exactly how gorgeous that is in great detail  
< **[06:35 AM] Bucky** : but as a concerned friend i gotta ask u  
< **[06:35 AM] Bucky** : wtf were u doing up at 3 am ???

Steve and him had become rather close really quick, despite the short amount of time they had known each other – a couple of weeks. They had known each other for a couple of weeks, and Steve had already become the one Bucky texted the most. After Natasha, of course, but with her, it was more sporadically because of her super secret (spy) government job.

With Steve, it was almost constant. With Steve, it was easy. It wasn't draining or exhausting like most social interactions were for Bucky ever since he came back stateside. Granted, his social interactions with Steve had been limited to texts only since the time in the grocery store the week before, but he still counted it. He could get tired from texting Clint or Sam, after all.

With Steve, it was like he had known him forever, and it was just easy.

And every text from Steve amplified Bucky's growing crush on him. He still had no intentions of acting on any feelings he may or may not have though, because despite having been home for over a year and despite recovering rather well, if he did say so himself, he was still screwed up in more ways than he could count, and he didn't want to put a romantic relationship on top of his recovery.

Friendships, however. Friendships he could handle.

There was no reply from Steve when Bucky struggled into his jogging pants and threw on a tee shirt, what was left of his left arm – no more than a few inches from his shoulder – hanging out of the short sleeve. He didn't expect an answer either, considering the time of the day.

Pocketing his phone and grabbing his running shoes along with a hair elastic, Bucky stepped out of his room and walked down the hall and into the kitchen, where Sam and Clint were talking in lowered voices.

And where a shattered coffee pot laid out on the floor, surrounded by a pool of probably freshly brewed coffee and being swiped up by a guilty looking Clint.

“Clint,” Bucky sighed, giving him a disapproving look. “That's the second one this month.”

Clint straightened up, coffee pot remains in the dustpan, and he sighed defeated, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, I know. I'll buy a new one.” He moved over toward the trashcan and continued in a mutter, “Again.”

“One more time and I'm revoking your coffee privileges.” Bucky dumped his running shoes on the ground and held out the hair elastic to Clint, after he had thrown out the coffee pot remains. “Do my hair.”

While Clint did so, quietly complaining about the fact that Bucky hadn't even bothered brushing his hair first so it was still knotted and messy, Bucky looked at Sam leaning against the counter and watching them with amusement. “Where are we going today?”

“Prospect Park,” Sam answered, and Bucky made a face.

“Why not Fort Greene? It's closer.”

Sam gave him a deadpan look. “Yeah, by a whole two minutes.” He huffed at him, and Clint stepped away from behind Bucky, lightly flicking the bun he had put his hair into. “Don't be a baby and let's go, before we miss the train.”

“Two minutes extra in a boilin' hot subway, Sammy,” Bucky reminded him as he wiggled his feet into his shoes.

“Listen, man, if you wanna go to Fort Greene, be my guest. Prospect is closer to Maximoffs', though.”

“And we haven't been there since last week,” Clint added, crouched down in front of Lucky to attach a leash to his collar. “Kinda miss the kids, to be honest.”

Bucky sighed heavily, eyes going heavenward. “Alright, fine. Let's go get baked for two extra minutes.”

Summer in Brooklyn was, to say it mildly, a fucking nightmare. In the middle of July, it was even worse. It was the kind of hot, where spending your days in nothing but your underwear (optional) and sitting in front of your fan on full speed while slurping down ice cream before it melted was totally acceptable, and something that Bucky would much rather be doing than going for a run in the heat.

And the subway- god, the subway. Already, it was gross and smelled weird, the tunnels old and trash littering the tracks and platforms, rats poking their heads out occasionally. But during the summer, especially mid July, it was like stepping into a fucking sauna or the deepest, darkest, hottest corner of Hell.

It was like being in the center of Satan's asshole, to put it nicely. Even when it was this early in the morning. Bucky dreaded the ride home, where it would be even hotter, and they would already be sweaty from their run.

At least they could cool down at the Maximoffs' afterward.

It was approximately seventeen minutes from Brooklyn Heights to Prospect Park, and Bucky complained loudly about the heat for the first little while, sweat already breaking on his forehead and the hairs that hadn't been trapped by the elastic sticking to his sweaty skin. And he hadn't even been running yet. Clint was silently whining next to him, head resting against the rumbling window and Lucky panting on the floor.

Sam rolled his eyes at the two of them and shoved a water bottle in their hands.

Considering it was so early, barely past 7:30 am, and despite the sun already being up and birds already tweeting their heart out, Prospect Park was fairly bare of people. A few fellow joggers occupied the trail, buds in their ears and faces flushed and sweat stains on their shirts. One of them – Carol, a fellow veteran, currently working security at Stark Tech – passed them just as they started stretching, and she send them a quick smile and wave, before she was off again.

Like always, they started in a slow tempo down the trail. Clint quickly lagged behind, because Lucky found something more interesting than running in a mostly straight line or because he needed to pee or poop or greet another dog out on an early morning run.

Neither Sam nor Bucky had the patience to wait for him, so they didn't, despite Clint calling out after them, calling them a pair of fuckheads and probably signing something crude at them, that neither of them could see with their backs turned.

One loop around the slowly filling park had them switching from a casual jog to get their heartbeats going to an actual run and an actual run turned into a competition, when they looped a swearing Clint and barking Lucky for the first time.

Bucky was faster than Sam (“It's the one arm thing. Makes you faster,” Sam had said the first time, and that had been the first of many snipes at Bucky's lack of an arm. Bucky liked that it was something they could joke about, it was nice that it wasn't such a heavy subject all the time) and easily won, as he did so often.

“You are the biggest piece of shit in human history,” Sam told him, as he joined him on his back on the grass, panting and sweating.

Bucky grinned at him, his remaining arm held up to cast a shadow over his eyes, blocking out the sun. “Not my fault you're slow as fuck, Wilson.

Sam flung out an arm and smacked his chest. Bucky laughed and hit him back.

They lay there for several minutes – long enough for Bucky to get bored and point to the one cloud in the sky and tell Sam it looked like a dick, even though the resemblance was far off – before Clint came over to join them, not as worn out as the two of them, because unlike them, he had taken his time.

Lucky, however, trotted over and laid down between them, resting his head on Bucky'st chest with a soft harrumph.

With a quiet chuckle, Bucky gave him an ear scratch and squinted up at Clint. “You wore your dog out.”

Clint lazily waved a hand at him and moved to sit down on the grassy area next to the trail, legs crossed. “It's good for him. He eats too much pizza.”

Bucky turned his head and shared a look with Sam, a look that they then gave Clint, who narrowed his eyes at them and said, “Don't even think about it, fuckers.”

Sam held up his hands and pulled himself up to sit with a groan. “Hey, I ain't gonna say nothing. Except for; let's go to Maximoffs'. I'm starving and really goddamn thirsty.”

The Maximoffs' was a 24/7 diner on fifth avenue, co-owned by the Maximoff twins Wanda and Pietro, and just a ten-fifteen minute walk from Prospect. They had opened their diner a couple of years back, and Clint had been there since day one of living in Brooklyn and had made instant friends with them. Mostly thanks to Lucky and the people he brought in with him, because when Clint found somewhere with food he liked, he never went anywhere else and dragged everyone he knew along with him.

Bucky was still waiting for the day Clint decided to find coffee somewhere other than their own kitchen, so they could keep their coffee pot and mugs for more than a few weeks (sometimes only days) at a time.

The diner wasn't all that big but it was cozy, and it was usually cramped later in the day. When the Running Men, as Pietro had nicknamed them, entered the diner in the morning, there were rarely more than one or two people already there. This time was no different.

“Ah, the Running Men!” Pietro greeted them the moment the door was pushed open, his accent thick and smile wide. “Good morning, gentlemen. Your usual table?” He moved over to them, his movements smooth as he heelied across the diner floor.

Sam snorted at him. “Still on the heelys, I see. You know they made roller blades, right?”

“Roller blades are not as cool,” Pietro said and led them to their usual table in the back corner, perfect vantage point of every exit and entrance and table of the place, and close to a window so they could see out as well.

“He does have a point there,” Bucky commented dryly, scooting onto the bench behind the table, back against the wall and his right side to the window, his left taken up by Sam.

Pietro nodded briefly at Bucky in appreciation and reached a hand out to pet Lucky's head, Lucky wagging his tail as he sat obediently by Clint's side and enjoyed the petting. “Your usual breakfast too, I assume?”

“Yes, please,” said Sam and handed him the menus laid out on the table, none of them having bothered even touching them.

“And a bowl of water for the dog,” Clint added, and Pietro nodded and heelied off with a thumbs up.

Pietro came back with a bowl of water first, and Lucky was up and over by it before it had even touched the floor. When Pietro came back next, it was with a tray of six glasses; three with water, three with juice, one of each for all three of them.

Bucky only managed to down about a third of the glass of water in front of him, before his phone buzzed in his pocket. He shifted, pulled it out of his pocket, and tried to bite back the smile that pulled at his lips, but he knew he failed.

> **[10:14 AM] Punk** : I think the better question is what were you doing awake before 7?

“What's got you smiling like a dope?”

Bucky lifted his gaze from the phone in his hand to Clint, and he dared a quick glance at a grinning Sam sitting next to him. He shrugged and ducked his head slightly, eyes back on the text. “Nothin'.”

“Oh, come on,” Sam said, turning more to him. “Out with it.”

“Really, it's nothing,” Bucky insisted. He paused, then continued. “'s just Steve.”

“Oooohhh, Steeeve!” Clint and Sam sing-sang in unison, Clint batting his lashes at him and Sam grinning widely.

Bucky glared at both of them. “Shut up, bird fuckers.”

Both of them grinning smugly at Bucky, Sam and Clint reached across the table and knocked their closed fists together. When they pulled apart, they flapped their now outstretched hand like a bird's wing and whistled.

Bucky gave them both a judgmental look, before he rolled his eyes and concentrated on replying to Steve instead of listening to their teasing.

Texting wasn't easy with just one hand, but he managed.

< **[10:16 AM] Bucky** : sam likes to take me and clint out running every other day  
< **[10:17 AM] Bucky** : it aint even that early

> **[10:18 AM] Punk** : Are you forgetting about the fact that I don't work properly before 10?

< **[10:19 AM] Bucky** : ever thought it might be cause youre awake til past 3???

The phone vibrated again shortly after he had hit send, but Bucky put it down on the table, when Wanda approached. He smiled at her, his stomach growling quietly at the smell of food nearing.

“Hey, Wanda,” Clint greeted, already reaching out for his plate of scrambled eggs with extra bacon and ketchup. “You gotta fix your air-con soon, it's hot in here.”

It wasn't that the air-condition wasn't working, it just wasn't working all that well. It hadn't been working well the last time they were in there either, and Clint had pointed it out then too. Sam hadn't seemed to mind it, and Bucky didn't really care that much as long as he got water and food.

“You have two hands,” said Wanda as she handed Sam and Bucky their plates. “You can do it.”

Bucky snickered, setting his plate down before lifting his hand. “I've only got the one, Wanda.”

Wanda send him an unimpressed look and said, “I was not talking to you, Bucky.”

“Pay me and I'll fix it for you,” Clint said, picking up his fork.

“I will pay you in food.”

“Deal.”

“Great,” said Sam, rubbing his hands together as he eyed his plate hungrily. “Can we eat now?”

Wanda held her hands out in a silent “Go ahead,” and Sam wasted no time digging in. Clint was already shoveling down his eggs, hearing aids taken out and laid on the table so he wouldn't be disturbed. Lucky was finished with his water for now and was laying with his head on Clint's feet, and Bucky put off eating to text Steve again.

And when a smile tugged at his lips, Sam nudged him and gave him a knowing grin, which Bucky responded to with his tongue stuck out.

Because he was a mature adult.

They ate in comfortable and easy conversation. Clint finished his plate as quickly as he always did and joined in on their conversation. He made himself comfortable against the window, one hand absently scratching Lucky's ear when he wasn't signing.

Bucky's phone had gone silent for the last thirty minutes. Not that he had been obsessively checking it, not at all. No matter what Sam said, he hadn't.

They had been sitting in the diner for well over an hour, when Clint signed at Pietro for another plate, and Bucky caught sight of a familiar head of blond hair walking by the diner window. Immediately, he patted Sam's arm to get him to look too, and then he pounded on the window, ignored Pietro's “Hey!” and waved at Steve when he looked over his shoulder at him.

Sam was out of his seat and half running toward the diner's opened door with a wide smile on his face by the time Steve raised a hand to wave back. “Yo, Rogers!” Bucky heard Sam call out and his voice carried out onto the street as he jogged up to Steve.

With his eyes on Sam and Steve, more on Steve than on Sam, Bucky raised his hand to brush the hair out of his face and touched the ponytail his hair was put up in, the ponytail having gone messy. He was surprised the elastic had managed to keep most of his hair trapped even after a long run.

His attention was pulled away from the two outside, when Clint nudged him under the table, and his eyes wandered over to him.

_Want me to do your hair again, so you can look pretty for Steve?_ Clint signed, a teasing grin on his lips.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at him and flipped him off.

Steve and Sam were heading toward the door by the time Bucky looked back at them, and he shifted where he sat and instinctively tugged his left sleeve further down over his stump. He wasn't embarrassed by it, wasn't ashamed of it. He knew Steve knew he wore a prosthetic, too. But sometimes, people were uncomfortable with seeing his stump, sometimes he was too, and it was just out of habit.

“Pietro!” Sam called out as they entered the diner, his one arm slung over Steve's slim shoulders, guiding him toward their table. “Bring another glass of water, will ya? Extra ice!”

“On the way!” Pietro called back, already heelying behind the counter.

Steve looked over toward them and when Bucky caught his eye, he smiled at him, Bucky's heart hammering almost uncharacteristically rapidly. Steve was in a short sleeved and loose shirt with some artistic print on the front, the short sleeves showing off pale and skinny arms full of tattoos, both colorful and black and white.

Unlike the other three, Steve was in long jeans that sat neatly on his slim legs and pooled around his simple and black converse. He wasn't wearing his glasses, blue eyes storming yet calming, and his blond hair fell above them.

Freckles dotted his sharp cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, Bucky noticed when he got closer, and there was a faint pink color dusting underneath them, probably from the heat outside.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve greeted, smile in place.

“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky greeted back, and he watched as Lucky got up from his placement on Clint's feet to greet the newcomer, tail wagging excitedly behind him. Steve smiled down at him and rested his free hand on the dog's head to pet him, his other hand, Bucky just now saw, was occupied by an almost alarmingly large bag from the pharmacy a few blocks away.

“That looks heavy,” he commented before he could stop himself, nodding at the bag. He scooted over a bit, when Sam sat back down on his left.

Steve glanced down at the bag shortly, then he shrugged. “Yeah well, my list of health problems is heavy, so.”

Bucky frowned but before he could say anything about it, Clint turned and finally looked at Steve. “Hey, man. I'm Clint.” His voice was raised a little more than necessary, something he always did when he wasn't wearing his hearing aids.

Steve put on a smile and sat down on the spot Clint offered on his side of the table. “Steve,” he introduced himself as. “You the coffee inhaling roommate I've been hearing so much about?”

Clint winced and said, “Yeah, I'm maybe a little bit addicted.” Bucky saw the moment his eyes flickered to the hearing aid in Steve's ear, and he snorted quietly when Clint suddenly brightened visibly. “Dude!” Clint reached out and lightly poked at the aid, just once. “Hearing aid buddies!”

Steve smiled at him, amused, and Bucky rolled his eyes. “If you're gonna be hearing aid buddies,” he said and pushed Clint's toward him, “at least wear yours.”

“But how else am I supposed to ignore you without looking like an ass?” Clint asked, unashamed, but he picked his hearing aids up and put them on anyway.

Steve laughed, Sam snorted, and Bucky kicked him under the table. “You're already an ass, bird brain.”

Clint stuck his tongue out at him, because he was as much of an adult as Bucky was, and Pietro came over carrying a glass of water and another plate. “Your water,” he said, setting the glass in front of Steve, “and your number two,” he continued, handing Clint the plate.

“Yeah, maybe don't say that, Pietro,” Sam said, making a face along with Bucky. Clint seemed unbothered by it, but then again, he wasn't bothered by much.

Pietro shrugged and turned to Steve. “Do you want anything else?”

Steve shook his head and offered him a polite smile. “I'm good, thank you.”

“Come on, Steve,” said Sam. “Order something. It's on me.”

Steve looked at him for a moment, and Bucky found himself unable to look away from him, even though he was fully aware of Clint watching him with a grin on his lips. He just ignored him and his nudging foot.

“I can't let you do that,” Steve said with a short shake of his head. “You already threw me a birthday party a couple of weeks ago.”

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but Bucky cut in. “Wait, when was your birthday?”

Steve's eyes flickered to him, and he looked almost uncomfortable or maybe embarrassed as he lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Couple'a weeks ago.”

“Not an answer, Stevie.”

He sighed, shoulder sagging slightly. “Okay, but promise you won't laugh.”

“I promise I won't laugh.”

Steve hesitated, shooting Sam a quick glance. “Fourth of July.”

Bucky blinked at him, a snort threatening to spill but he held it back quickly, when he noticed the defensive look on Steve's face. He liked him, he wasn't about to fuck that up just because his birthday happened to be on the day the country celebrated its independence.

“Wow,” he said, smiling instead of snorting or laughing. “So you're the actual Mr. America, huh?”

Sam barked a laugh, and Steve groaned and hid his face in his hands, and both Bucky and Clint looked at them in confusion. “What?”

Too busy laughing, Sam just shook his head. Steve lifted his head from his hands and sighed heavily, glaring at Sam. “Nothing. It's just not the first time someone's called me that.”

“I feel like there's more to this story,” Clint commented in a mutter, words muffled by the eggs he had shoveled into his mouth.

“Oh, there is,” Sam said, finally calming down.

“Sam,” Steve warned, and Sam held up his hands in surrender.

“Hey, I ain't gonna say a word.”

“Good, or I'll tell Riley what really happened to his old wheelchair.”

Bucky's eyes moved from Steve's smug look to Sam's near terrified one, Sam's laughter dead within a second. Bucky nearly laughed at them, but he didn't and nearly choked on a snort instead. Who knew that was all it took to get Sam Wilson to shut up? Steve Rogers, that's who, apparently.

“You wouldn't dare,” Sam said darkly.

“Try me,” Steve challenged and cocked a brow.

“Are we done?” All of them turned and looked at Pietro, who was still standing by the table, watching them amused. “And are you going to order anything else, or can I go back to my job?”

“Literally no one else is here, Pietro,” Clint pointed out around another mouthful of eggs.

“I'll have a breakfast omelet, if you've got it,” said Steve, sending Pietro a smile that Bucky, once again, couldn't look away from.

Pietro nodded, fired finger guns at them, and rolled backward. “I will be back in a jiffy.”

When Pietro returned a little while later with the breakfast omelet for Steve and more water for Lucky, the table was in deep conversation about the most recent episode of some television show that Bucky, apparently, was the only one who hadn't watched yet. Even though Clint had tried to force him to watch it with him at least twice a week, Bucky kept refusing.

The others were talking animatedly, especially Clint and Sam who seemed to agree on just about everything about the show, and Bucky found himself tuning out a little, absently touching the half empty glass of juice in front of him and quietly watching Steve from across the table.

There was just something about the guy. From the moment he met him, even when he got the door slammed in his face, Bucky had felt drawn toward him. Like a magnet getting pulled toward something magnetic. They hadn't known each other for long, and yet it felt like they'd known each other for forever. Like two pieces of a puzzle finally connecting.

Bucky was attracted to him, he couldn't deny that, but it was more than that. Not like Steve was some piece he had been missing all his life, because Bucky was a whole man without him – if you don't count missing an arm. It was like they were meant to meet, meant to know each other. Whether that was as just friends or more, well... Bucky could only hope for just anything.

Bucky didn't realize he had been staring for too long to be normal, until Steve took his eyes off Sam and looked his way. Bucky didn't look away though, not ashamed or embarrassed for having looked. Instead, he offered him a little smile that Steve returned, his cheeks dusting a slight pink color, before he looked away again.

What did make Bucky tear his gaze away from Steve, however, was Clint making a noise and practically vibrating in his seat, phone in hand and a wide smile on his lips. “Nat's coming!”

Sam chuckled, and Bucky made a gagging noise. “Could you be more lovesick? It's fuckin' gross, dude.”

“You're just jealous,” Clint said, shooting him a grin as he placed his phone on the table, cracked screen down.

“Jealous of you or her? 'Cause lemme tell ya,” Bucky leaned slightly over the table, wagging a finger at him, “it's neither.” He caught the chuckle Steve it back and winked at him.

“Jealous of me, obviously,” Clint continued. “I have the best girlfriend in the whole wide world, and she's beautiful and badass and amazing and-”

“You do know she's my best friend, right?” Bucky interrupted, raising a brow. “And that I knew her first? In the biblical sense, too.”

“And then you realized you're strictly into dick, so it doesn't matter,” Clint said, shrugging.

“Guy's got a point,” Sam commented in a mumble.

“Into men, Clint, _men_ ,” Bucky said, ignoring Sam. “Ain't all about what's between a person's legs, pervert. Dick or no dick, as long as it's a guy, I'm in.”

“Wow.”

He looked over at Steve who was looking back at him with his brows raised and a smile curling the corners of his lips. There's a look on Steve's face that could very well be adoration, and Bucky's heart pounded in his chest at the sight. “What?”

“Nothing.” Steve shook his head shortly, the smile not faltering. “That's just very progressive of you. I'm impressed.”

Bucky ducked his head and shrugged, scratching the back of his neck as he attempted to will down the feeling of heat rising to his face. “'s how it should be.”

“Yeah,” Steve easily agreed with a short bop of his head. “It is.”

There was a moment of silence, then Clint snorted. “Wait 'til you see him actually flirt with a guy,” he told Steve, pointing at Bucky. “Now that's impressive.”

“And by impressive, he means a goddamn train wreck,” Sam added, and Bucky rolled his eyes and scoffed at them.

Natasha stepped in through the diner door only a minute later, and the second Bucky let Clint know with a quick and pointed look over his shoulder, Clint was up and out of his seat. Meaning he leaped up from the bench, startling Lucky who was half asleep on the floor and Steve who leaned away. He jumped over the back of it, before he took off in a quick jog toward Natasha. Natasha was watching him with one of her brows raised and an amused glint on her eyes.

Bucky watched with a smile tugging at his lips, as Natasha huffed at him but leaned in for the kiss Clint offered her, his lips puckered. Natasha was just as lovesick as Clint, she just hid it a lot better than he did. Always had but there was never any doubt if you knew her well enough. Which Bucky did, and he caught the smile that formed on her lips, when Clint grabbed her hand and dragged her along to their table.

“Nat, meet my new hearing aid buddy,” Clint said, smiling widely at Steve, and Bucky bit back a laugh at the almost nervous look on Steve's face. So did Sam, but he did snort.

Natasha tended to have that effect on people, with her confident stance and beautiful, well, everything.

Her eyes wandered over Steve for a moment, before she put on a sweet smile (not the fake one that was more cold than friendly) and sat down onto the bench, scooting in to give room for Clint and resting a hand on top of Lucky's head, when he moved over to say hi.

“Hi,” she said, completely ignoring the other two on the other side of the table. “I'm Natasha.” She shot Bucky a quick glance, then motioned her head toward him as her eyes returned to Steve. “The best friend of that dork.”

“The devil in the flesh,” Bucky added to Steve in a stage whisper, leaning slightly over the table and nodding with an overly serious look on his face. Natasha was giving him an unimpressed look, but he ignored her.

Steve snorted at Bucky and turned to Natasha. “I'm Steve.”

“I've heard a lot about you,” said Natasha, now grinning, and Bucky was about to protest or argue but she continued before he could. “I like your tats,” she said, eyeing the tattoo covered arm Steve was resting on the table.

“Did she say tits?” Clint whispered to Bucky and Sam, and both of them gave him an unimpressed look.

“Turn your fuckin' ears up, dumbass,” Bucky told him, flicking his forehead.

“Is this one of Thor's?” Natasha continued, ignoring the other three and pointing at the tattoo of a fancy looking hammer on Steve's forearm.

“Yeah,” said Steve, smiling down at it. “Most of them are, actually. He's been doing my tattoos for years now.”

Natasha rolled up the sleeve of her shirt just enough to reveal the black widow on her right wrist. “Darcy did this one a few years ago.”

“Darcy Lewis?” Steve asked, leaning in to better see it. Natasha nodded, and there was a smile on Steve's lips when he continued. “She did a stick-man on my leg last summer.”

The two of them got completely absorbed in sharing tattoo stories, and both of them completely ignored the rest of the table. Clint tried to get Natasha's attention, even slipped his arm around her and leaned in for a cheek kiss, but she only gave him a pat on the head and never stopped talking with Steve.

“It's like I'm invisible,” Clint complained in a whiny mutter, bottom lip poking out in a pout.

“You're a child,” Bucky told him, his attention quickly back on Natasha and Steve, and he intently listened to Steve talk about his tattoos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reblogable on [tumblr](http://hoechlbutt.tumblr.com/post/154086744638).


	4. July, part two

**JULY – MONTH ONE, WEEK FOUR**.

Therapists.

When Bucky had come stateside again, out of the hospital with a shitty replacement for the arm that got blown off, he had hated them. Hated the first he had been send to, hated the second and the third. The fourth was tolerable, but she transferred to DC and he was stuck with a fifth.

The fifth was … well, the fifth took some time to warm up to him. Her name was Amanda. She was stern, tough, took none of his shit, and, as it turned out, was just what he needed. Still needed, too. So Bucky stuck with her, and she stuck with him. If it wasn't because their relationship was purely professional and therapeutic, all focus on him, he might even call her a friend.

She wasn't his friend though, she liked to remind him of that.

Group therapy had never been his thing, it was more Sam's. The first time Amanda managed to convince him to go to one – Sam's because Sam was good with newbies, according to Amanda. This was before Bucky called Sam his friend, before he even knew who he was – he had freaked out and had a panic attack right in the middle of the room, and he had been seconds from lashing out. The only reason he hadn't was because Sam had grabbed him and taken him outside.

Group was definitely not his thing and he had never gone back and had continued to do one-on-one instead, but one good thing had come out of it; Sam Wilson.

Bucky had been home for just over a year now and walking through the VA no longer felt like walking down corridors in Hell. He could actually make it from the subway station to his session with Amanda and back out without freaking out now.

Well, most days. He still occasionally had set backs and bad days, because PTSD wasn't just something you got over like that, but they were less and farther between. Progress.

He still couldn't go into a therapy session without his shit prosthetic of an arm, though. He could go out without it fine enough if he was with Sam or Clint or Natasha or all three of them, but not to the VA, for some reason. He had tried to, once. Six months ago. He had gotten exactly two steps out the door of his apartment with his sleeve clipped to his stump, before he had stormed back in and grabbed his prosthetic.

Maybe one day he could, but not in the near future.

“You look tired.”

Bucky lifted his eyes from the half finished text he had been writing to Steve, having sat down on one of the benches in the hall after his session with Amanda, and looked over at where Sam and Riley were approaching. Riley was in his wheelchair, and Sam was smiling the usual Post Group smile. The tired one.

“Long one,” Bucky explained with a shrug and quickly fired off the text, before he stood, slipping his hand into the pocket of his jacket, the prosthetic arm hanging stiffly by his left side.

Sam hummed noncommittally and nodded, while Riley moved closer to Bucky and lightly tapped his prosthetic arm. “When's this one getting replaced?”

Bucky huffed and rolled his eyes. “You know just as well as I do, man,” he said. “Last I asked Stark, he just said it still needs a few more things, even though it looks perfectly fine already.” He scoffed and shook his head. “That's been his answer the last fifty-thousand times I've asked him. Starting to wonder if he's even working on it at all, or if he got distracted building those fuckin' robots again.”

“If I remember right,” Sam said and grabbed the handles on Riley's wheelchair, wheeling him down the hall, and Bucky turned to follow them, “you were the one who went on and on about how cool those were.”

“That's 'cause they're robots!” Bucky exclaimed, lifting a shoulder. “Robots are always cool, but I want a new arm. This one's ugly as shit.”

“Fits your ugly face then,” Sam muttered, and Riley snorted.

Bucky smacked his arm lightly and said, “I'm handsome as hell and you know it, Wilson, don't deny it.”

“Oh yes, if I wasn't a taken man, I'd be all over you,” Sam told him dryly.

They passed a few fellow veterans on the way out, none of them stopping to talk but all of them sending polite smiles and greeting nods as they passed them. The building was mostly quiet, just a distant chatter in the background and the sound of people walking up and down the hallways. Occasionally, if you really listened, you could heart a faint sob from somewhere, but no one ever mentioned that or judged anyone for breaking. They had all been there.

“Hey,” Riley said once they had left the building and stepped onto the busy streets of Brooklyn. “We're having Clint and Natasha over for dinner on Friday. You wanna come?”

Bucky slowly inched a brow further up his forehead, sending both of them hesitant and doubting looks. “That sounds like a double date, guys, I don't know-”

“Steve's gonna be there,” Sam interrupted, sending him a knowing look.

And god, Bucky hated the grin that spread across both of their faces when he felt himself visibly brighten at that. Instantly, he shifted into a scowl. “I hate you both,” he told them, and their grins grew wider. “Fine, I'll be there.”

“Great. Dinner's at six. Make yourself look real pretty!” Sam called out, and Bucky, turning to walk away, raised his flesh hand and flipped them off.

**[** … **]**

The thing about long distance friendships is that they're hard. Not necessarily to maintain, because texting and phone calls and a variety of ways to video chat are a thing these days, as well as the old school letter still being a possibility. But they're hard because you can never just go over and hang out and if they live in a different country and/or different time zone, they're not always available and neither are you.

When Peggy had moved across the ocean with Angie, Steve had been devastated. They had been too, hugging him too long and too tight at the airport when they parted ways a few years ago, but they stayed in contact. Sporadically texting each other and calling each other during the weekend when Peggy wasn't busy with her fancy government job or didn't have one of Angie's plays to go see.

They made it work, but Steve still missed seeing her and talking to her face to face, to hug her and attempt to dance with her, to have her as back up when he picked fights with assholes, and just to have her nearby like he did back in college.

“Oh, Steve,” Peggy chuckled when he told her that Friday, sprawled out on his couch with his phone clutched to his ear and his drawing board forgotten on his thighs, fan out and directed at him to cool him down in the July heat. “I'll come visit in December, you know that.”

“It's July now,” Steve reminded her, rolling over onto his side and pulling his glasses off to be comfortable. “December is too far away. If I had money for it, I'd go hop on a plane and visit, but,” he finished with a shrug that she couldn't see.

“I know,” said Peggy and the sound of a busy street and honking cars and background chatter disappeared on her end, when she stepped into a building. “But we're already at the end of July, and it'll be December before you know it. Besides, it's not like we never talk.”

“No, but I haven't seen your face in weeks, Pegs. It's weird not seeing my best friend for so long, and I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” Peggy said, her smile audible in her voice, and Steve found himself smiling too. There was a brief pause, then Peggy continued. “It's getting rather late over by you, isn't it? Have you had dinner yet?”

“Nah, I'm going over to Sam and Riley's for dinner,” said Steve, rolling back onto his back and scrubbing at his eyes. A second passed, before he shot up. “Shit!” He pulled his phone away from his ear to quickly check the time, and then he groaned at the sight. “I'm supposed to be over there in two minutes.”

“And let me guess, you're still in your underwear.”

Steve looked down at his skinny legs sticking out of his Star Wars boxers and sighed, hanging his head and running his free hand through his head. “You know me so well.”

“You are so predictable, Steve,” Peggy said, sounding amused, and Steve rolled his eyes and reluctantly pulled himself off of the couch with a groan. “Be glad Sam and Riley live ten seconds from you.”

“I am,” Steve sighed as he hurriedly headed for his bedroom to get dressed.

“Will it just be you three?”

“Nah, their friends Natasha and Clint are coming too.” Steve opened his closet and grabbed the first shirt his hand found. He paused for a moment, hesitating. “And uh, Bucky too.”

Being the person closest to him, of course he had told Peggy about Bucky. It was so rare that Steve showed interest in anyone, so Peggy had latched on and hadn't let go, hadn't stopped teasing him about Steve's attraction to Bucky. Both physical and mental attraction.

“Ooh, Bucky!” Peggy said, a teasing tone in her voice that had Steve rolling his eyes.

He shook his head and pulled the phone away from his ear, put it on speaker, and put it on his desk, ridding himself of the shirt he was wearing. It had paint splatter all over it, and it was at least a size too big.

“Stop it, Peggy,” he told her, voice raised so she could hear, and he tossed the shirt to the pile in the corner. He should really do laundry soon. “We're just friends.”

“Sure you are,” Peggy drawled. “You're friends like Angie and I were friends before we started dating.” Steve groaned at her, loudly, and she chuckled. “Steve, you've been talking about him non-stop since you met him, and from what you tell me, he seems to like you too. Honestly, I don't see what the problem is.”

“The problem is that he likes me as a _friend_ ,” Steve said and stepped into a pair of jeans, stuffing the legs of his boxers into them. “I like him as a friend too, so we're good like this. Just friends.” Pausing, he zipped his pants and closed them. “Besides, we've only known each other for a few weeks.”

“Steve, it takes a second to know whether or not you're attracted to someone,” Peggy told him, and the sound of the busy street of London appeared in the background on her end again. “I'm not pushing you to ask him out or anything, but when was your last date?”

Steve's hands stilled around his shirt, his head ducked and his eyes lowered. Sighing, he shook his head and pulled the shirt on, letting it fall loosely around his thin frame. “You know damn well I haven't been on one since two years ago. You also know why.”

His phone buzzed twice in a row against the wood of the desk, just before Peggy spoke again. “And you know she would have wanted you to find someone.”

“I have friends, Peggy,” Steve said and quickly swiped his bangs out of his eyes, before he picked up his phone and quickly opened the messages he had received from Bucky.

> **[06:07 PM] Jerk** : youre coming to sam and rileys tonight right??  
> **[06:08 PM] Jerk** : i kinda dont wanna be the only single person here i feel like an awkward fifth wheel stevie help

A little smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and he leaned against the edge of the desk as he typed out a reply, only half paying attention to what Peggy was saying but still catching it.

< **[06:09 PM] Steve** : I'll be there in a minute to save you from your horrible fate.

“Friends you don't see often. I do talk to Thor,” Peggy reminded him, and Steve sighed. “According to him, he hasn't seen or heard from you in over a week. I'm glad you hang out with Sam and Riley more, but do remember your squad.”

That startled a laugh out of him, and Steve shook his head with a fond smile on his lips. “You did not just use squad unironically.”

“Don't be so surprised,” Peggy said, smugness in her voice. “It's not like it's the first time I've used it. Now, I have an actress to pick up and you have a dinner to get to.”

Steve nodded and tugged the front of his shirt into his pants, letting the rest of it fall out over the belt keeping his pants from falling down. “Right. Say hi to Angie for me.”

“I will,” Peggy promised. “I love you, Rogers.”

“I love you, Carter,” Steve replied easily, a smile on his lips as he turned off speaking and tugged the phone back to his ear. “Talk to you soon.”

“Bye,” Peggy said and then she hung up.

Standing outside the door of apartment 32, Steve could hear familiar and lowered voices talking on the other side of the thick wood. He could feel his phone buzz with a new text in his pocket, just as he raised his fist and banged his knuckles against the wood of the door. The conversation on the other side stilled for only a second, before it started again.

He didn't reach into his pocket to check his phone, because there were a pair of footsteps nearing the door and when the door opened, Steve smiled up at Bucky.

“Oh thank God, my knight in shining armor is here!” Bucky sighed with relief, and Steve was only slightly embarrassed by the quiet yelp he uttered, when Bucky grabbed him and pulled him in for a hug.

It was a tiny bit awkward, considering their height difference. Bucky was taller and broader than Steve, and when he dropped his head to Steve's shoulder, his back hunched over slightly. Chuckling, Steve reached up to pat his back, before he pulled himself slightly up on his toes and eyed the others over Bucky's back.

They were all four sitting in the living room area, Natasha in Clint's lap on one chair, lightly scratching his head, and Sam and Riley sitting next to each other on the two person couch, both of them with smug and teasing grins on their lips.

Steve narrowed his eyes at all of them. “How fucking terrible have you guys been for him to act like this?”

“So terrible,” Bucky muttered against his shoulder.

Sam rolled his eyes and said, “We kissed once and he's been complaining about it since.”

Bucky stood back up straight and looked over his shoulders, his arm – no prosthetic, Steve quietly noticed – still wrapped around Steve's waist. “You and Riley kissed once,” he corrected, shooting a now grinning Natasha and Clint a glare. “Those two assholes made out twice. I ain't here to be an awkward fifth wheel on your double date.”

“Well, now it's a triple date,” Sam said with a smug smile, getting up from his seat next to Riley. The warning glare that Steve (and Bucky, but Steve didn't see it) send him was ignored. “Hi, Steve. Glad you could pencil the dinner into your busy schedule.”

Steve rolled his eyes at Sam's dry tone. “I was talking to Peggy,” he explained. Suddenly, he realized he was still plastered to Bucky's side and with his face heating up just slightly, he slowly moved out from under his arm. “And I'm only a few minutes late, relax.”

“A few minutes of agonizing pain, Steve,” Bucky complained, his arm dropped along his side and his pale eyes wide and firmly on Steve, as if his stare would emphasize his words and point.

They didn't, and Steve snorted at him, amused. “How old are you, again? Five?”

Bucky scowled at him and huffed, although it sounded much more like a scoff. “Shut up, it was terrible.”

“You're just single and jealous and bitter,” Clint spoke up from the chair, smiling widely in reply to Bucky's scowl.

Bucky flipped him off, and Steve shook his head fondly, before he walked further into the apartment, Sam closing the door for them. “Good to see you again,” he said to Natasha and Clint, offering them a hand.

Natasha took and shook it, Clint just raised his left hand and signed his greeting. “Good to see you too, hearing aid buddy. Those are some hipster looking glasses.”

“Well, I do need them to see,” Steve said and nodded his greeting to Riley, as he sat down on the couch, Bucky joining him, still scowling slightly at the two cuddled up in the chair.

“Hipster isn't a bad thing,” Clint was quick to say. “Bucky's way more hipster than you. You seen his hair?”

“Ain't nothin' wrong with my hair, bird fucker,” Bucky told him, running his fingers through the loose hair that reached his shoulder, and Steve wanted to agree but-

“Bird fucker?” he questioned, quirking a curious brow.

“Clint has a weird obsession with birds,” Natasha explained with a roll of her eyes, although there was a certain fondness in her expression that Steve caught anyway. Natasha, he had learned quickly, wasn't all too comfortable with showing how she really felt and often put on a hard exterior. But she was kind and showed her love in her own way, and Steve liked her.

Plus, she knew Thor and if Thor said she was worthy, then she must be.

“Sam too,” Riley added with a sigh that sounded tired. “Falcons, specifically. I blame the Air Force.”

Natasha hummed in agreement, and Clint shared a look with Sam from across the apartment, when Sam came walking back into the living room area, a glass of water in hand. “Shut the hell up, birds are great,” Sam said and handed Steve the glass of water. “Here you go, man.”

Steve, barely even realizing his throat was drying up, grabbed the glass and nodded his thanks to Sam, before downing a good portion of it. Sometimes – and by sometimes, it was more often than not – Steve questioned whether Sam was a mind reader or not. Sam always seemed to know what people needed without the person even saying anything. He was good at reading people, and Steve appreciated having him in his life.

Sometimes, being a terrible flirt turned out to be a good thing rather than a horrible, embarrassing reminder of how hopeless he was.

Sure, Sam liked to remind him of it, but that was how they worked. They lived to give each other shit, to never let anything drop. Sam was the kind of friend Steve could trust with his deepest, darkest secrets, someone who would go to war with him, someone who would take a bullet for him, and Steve would do the same for Sam.

But Sam was also the kind of friend who would bring up any bad decision or embarrassing thing Steve had ever done and let everyone know about it, over and over again. If Steve tripped over his own feet or missed a step on the stairs or dropped his grocery bags and cracked every single egg or spilled paint all over himself? Sam would be there to film it and send it to everyone they knew and constantly bring it up.

Steve was going to love him forever.

“I agree with Sam,” Clint said with a nod and when he raised his right arm to wrap it around Natasha's middle, Steve noticed the bandage wrapped tightly around his wrist and hand. “Birds are awesome and the coolest and you're all just jealous of our love.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, as did Riley, and Natasha simply shook her head, while Steve focused on Clint's bandaged wrist and hand, a small frown on his lips.

“What happened to your wrist?” he asked before he could stop himself, raising his glass to take another sip of water.

Which, as it turned out, was a bad idea, because then Bucky said, all calm and serious, “He jerked off too hard.” Steve spluttered and blew out the mouthful of water, dropping forward and coughing.

“Jesus Christ, Buck,” he managed to get out between choked coughs and Riley helpfully patted his back, while Bucky looked smug and laughed.

It was the end of July and the air had been humid and thick right from the moment the sun went up earlier in the day, so breathing was already hard for Steve, making his asthma more troublesome than it usually was. Usually, his asthma was manageable, even during the summer months. But add the humidity to the air being knocked out of him from doing something as stupid as choke on water, and it was suddenly hard to breathe, and he was wheezing.

With a shaky hand, Steve reached into his pocket, fished out his inhaler, and puffed a few times. Bucky's laughter died down, and when he shot a glance at him, he saw the worried look he wore. Worry and a hint of guilt, and Steve wasn't having that.

“I'm fine,” he insisted and took another puff, before he shoved at Bucky, giving him a halfhearted glare. “But you're a fucking idiot. That was the dumbest joke I've ever heard, you can do better than that.”

Bucky seemed to calm down a bit, and he huffed, a little smile tugging at his lips. “I couldn't let a good ol' jerking off joke slip by like that, Stevie,” he said teasingly. He paused for a moment, then knocked their shoulders together and gave him an apologetic look and a slight movement of his lips that Steve supposed was meant to be a smile. “Sorry 'bout, y'know.”

Steve knocked back and smiled reassuringly at him. “Don't be. I'm okay, I promise. It's the air's fault, anyway. Too thick.” He saw the glint in Bucky's eyes, and he instantly continued, giving him a warning look. “Don't you dare say it.”

Unfortunately, Clint did dare, and he said it loudly and with a wide and proud smile on his lips even though he was an adult and it was a joke made mostly by teenagers. “That's what she said! Or he said, whatever you prefer.”

Steve turned to him and gave him an unimpressed look, Natasha doing the same but hers was more judgmental. “Nice of you to be inclusive in your immature joke,” he said dryly.”

Clint winked at him and smiled widely. “Gotta be inclusive when you make great jokes,” he said and shifted lightly. He then lifted his hand, the one wrapped in bandage. “Anyway, I sprained it at the shooting range. Bow and arrow,” he added, when Steve gave him a confused look.

“Oh, that's pretty cool,” said Steve, and Clint fired a finger gun at him in agreement.

Sam stood up from where he had sat down on the couch arm by Riley's side, clearing his throat to catch the others' attention. “Alright, who's hungry?” he asked, hand digging into his pocket for his phone.

There was a chorus of “Me,” and Steve asked, “What are you making?”

“Nothing,” Sam answered, keeping his eyes on his phone as he thumbed around on it. “I'm ordering pizza. Anyone got any preferences?”

Steve kept his eyes on Sam for a moment, watching him carefully, before he turned to look at Riley. Riley was already looking back at him, and he shrugged when Steve met his gaze.

Ah, it was one of those nights.

To the outside world, Sam Wilson was a well adjusted veteran. To the people who knew him, he still was. Most of the time.

When Riley had been shot down by an RPG and had been unable to move his legs, Sam had been there. The two of them had been partners in and out of the Air Force, and Sam had witnessed Riley's fall, which they both thought would be his death. The fall had made Sam realize just how easy it was for people in his life to suddenly be gone, and since then, he occasionally had nights where he just needed to be around the people he cared for. To be reminded that they were still there, breathing and alive.

It was always subtle – a game night or movie night or dinner at his and Riley's – but if you knew him well enough, you'd knew. After knowing him for a few years, Steve was able to tell pretty quick.

“Get me a meat lover's,” Steve said, settling back on the couch and sharing a smile with Riley.

“With extra sausages,” Riley added, along with a wink in Sam's direction.

The pizzas were eaten in the living room area, none of them bothering to move to the dining table. Natasha moved from her spot in Clint's lap to the floor in front of Bucky's legs, and Clint sprawled out on the chair, unbothered and happily munching down slice after slice.

Steve stayed where he was next to Bucky, their sides pressed together even though there was plenty of space on the couch. Steve didn't mind, neither did Bucky, and neither of them brought it up. It felt natural, not awkward or uncomfortable. Maybe uncomfortably comfortable, in a way.

Sam was practically plastered to Riley's side, arm swung around his shoulders or hand grabbing his. Riley didn't mind, just happily leaned into him and offered his lips, jaw, cheek, nose a kiss every once in a while and occasionally leaned in close to whisper something in his ear.

Steve knew how to read lips and could easily find out what Riley was whispering, but he gave them the privacy and looked away every time.

When the pizza boxes were mostly empty, save for a slice or two here and there, Clint decided it was the perfect time for a game of competitive Mario Kart. He, Natasha, Riley, and Sam took the first game and meanwhile, Bucky leaned into Steve, put his arm in his lap and his head on his shoulder, and asked him to draw him something.

Steve started off with a doodle of Mario jumping away from a Boo on Bucky's forearm, then, while Bucky was making fun of Clint for driving straight into a ditch for the third time in a row, he drew a dick on Bucky's bicep, grinning quietly to himself.

“Wow,” Bucky said with a chuckle when his eyes landed on it, Steve still putting the finishing touches on the balls. “That's … oddly realistic.”

“Well, I do have one myself,” Steve said in a flat tone.

Clint laughed for a solid two minutes when he leaned over to see, offering Steve a high five that Steve let him have. Sam rolled his eyes, and Natasha congratulated him on being a good artist and then told Bucky something in a foreign language that Steve couldn't place (it sounded like Russian) but whatever she said, it made Bucky flush and groan and Natasha grinned.

Bucky, however, complained about the dick.

“A dick is something a twelve year old would draw on someone, Stevie,” he said – or rather, whined, slumping against Steve's bony chest. “Are you trying to tell me you're actually twelve?”

“And a half,” Steve told him and grinned when Bucky nudged him with his elbow. “I'll make it into a unicorn, is that better?”

“Make it puke rainbows, then yes.”

After the first round of Mario Kart was finished (Natasha won by a landslide. Somehow, Steve wasn't surprised), Riley handed Steve his controller, and Sam offered his to Bucky. Except with Bucky's lack of an arm and therefore also a hand, Sam ended up helping him on the breaks and accelerator.

Steve noticed the way Bucky's face fell slightly, and he knew he wanted to insist on not needing any help. But Steve also noticed the pointed look Sam gave him, noticed the silent conversation they had, before Bucky sighed and let it happen.

Steve came in first on the first level, Natasha closely behind in second, and while Sam and Bucky were yelling at Clint for throwing them into fourth, Steve leaned back on the couch and smiled at the people around him.

He was happy, he realized. For the first time in a year, or maybe even longer, he felt genuine happiness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rebloggable on [tumblr](http://hoechlbutt.tumblr.com/post/154086744638).
> 
> Kudos and comments give me life. <3


	5. August, part one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few warnings, since this is an angst filled chapter:
> 
> Bucky has an anxiety attack during his therapy session. It's not described in detail, but if you'd rather skip it, go to "Clint wasn't home" when you get to the therapy session.
> 
> Riley talks about losing mobility in his legs and Bucky talks about how he lost his arm. Both mention not wanting to live anymore, but neither of them go into graphic detail about anything. If you want to skip it, go to "Come Wednesday".
> 
> If there's anything else that needs warning, let me know and I'll add it.

**AUGUST – MONTH TWO, WEEK ONE**.

Nightmares.

For the first several months after he had gone stateside for good, sans an arm, Bucky had gotten them at least once a night. It had meant weeks of sleepless nights and irritated moods and inability to really _do_ anything other than lay around in bed and try to quiet his mind enough, so that he could actually rest for just a bit.

War, it would seem, caused a lifetime of nightmares, but through therapy and recovery methods, Bucky had learned how to deal with them, and they had lessened after month seven of being home. But, still.

Still, they happened. Not as often anymore, nowhere near as vivid or horrible as they had been at first, but when they happened, it still took him ages to calm down. Sometimes, he wouldn't even try to go back to sleep, not even if there were hours left until he had to get up and go running with Sam and Clint or whatever else he had planned for the day.

They still happened, and they weren't pleasant.

Bucky jolted awake, gasping for breath as he shot up from his pillows, heaving and eyes flickering around the dark and quiet room. Sweat was soaking through the shin shirt he was wearing, just a little, damp patches under his armpits and on his chest, sweat gleaming his forehead and long strands of hair sticking to his skin. He swallowed thickly and with a groan, he drew his legs up and buried his face in his hand.

He was only vaguely aware of the sound of his door being pushed open just a bit more, vaguely registered the sound of paws against the floor, but he lifted his gaze when his bed dipped and a wet snout pressed against his right arm.

Lucky wasn't a therapy dog. Not a trained one, at least. Bucky still didn't know the whole story of how Clint came around getting him, doubted he ever would, but he did know some of it: Clint had found him in an alley, whining and hungry and left eye swollen and damaged. And after a long vet visit that resulted in Lucky losing that left eye, Clint had brought Lucky home and told Bucky he was there to stay, and that was that.

Lucky wasn't a therapy dog, but it felt like he was more often than not, and Bucky couldn't deny that having him around was the best decision Clint had ever made. For both them and the dog.

Bucky laid his hand on top of Lucky's head, and Lucky put his head in Bucky's lap, when Bucky lowered his legs again, letting him lay down and comfort him. He took a few minutes to calm himself and his heartbeat down, Lucky grounding him, before he reached over and grabbed his phone to check the time.

01:04 AM.

“Fuck,” he cursed and groaned internally. He had gone to bed barely an hour ago, and now he might not even get more sleep, his mind still racing with flashing images of his nightmare. His mood lightened slightly, however, when he saw the unopened message from Steve from a few minutes ago.

Well, if Steve was up and he was up, might as well reply. Talking to Steve and cuddling with Lucky may even help him calm down enough to get some more sleep.

> **[00:59 AM] Punk** : My hand is cramping, this is hell.

Bucky let out a slow breath and leaned back against the pillows, Lucky moving with him and laying his head on his chest. With his hand occupied by the phone, he couldn't pet him but Lucky didn't seem to mind, eye already closing.

< **[01:05 AM] Bucky** : what r u drawing

> **[01:06 AM] Punk** : Middle pages of the next Captain Marvel issue. What are you still doing up?

Right. Steve drew for Avenger Comic and was in the middle of drawing that issue. He'd told Bucky not a week ago, but in his current state, he'd momentarily forgotten. He cursed quietly at himself, clutched the phone in his hand, and pressed the back of his hand against Lucky for a moment, before he bothered replying.

His thumb hovered over the send button for a minute, hesitating, but with a sharp inhale through his nose, he decided to say fuck it and hit send.

< **[01:08 AM] Bucky** : bad night

Steve's reply was immediate.

> **[01:08 AM] Punk** : Wanna talk about it?  
> **[01:08 AM] Punk** : I could use a break, so you'd be doing me a favor.

The corner of Bucky's lips tugged back slightly, but no smile formed. Well, only for a second before it slipped away again. He knew what Steve was doing, making it seem like it wasn't a bother to talk about it, and he appreciated it. But …

< **[01:10 AM] Bucky** : nah tell me about the comic

So Steve did. Now, he wasn't really allowed to give out spoilers left and right, but Steve was a rebel and no rule follower, which was one of the many things Bucky liked about him. And obviously Steve knew Bucky needed a distraction, so he started telling him all about the new issue, and Bucky smiled quietly to himself, as he settled down against the pillows and read through each message Steve send him, the messages growing more and more excited as they went by.

Bucky had read his fair share of comics back when he was a scrawny kid with a bowl cut. His comic readings had lessened during his teens, and they had stopped completely when he joined the army. All his old comic books were somewhere at his parents' house.

He had half a mind to give them to Steve. He'd probably get a real kick out of it. Yeah, that was a good idea.

Around two am, the topic shifted from comics to anything else, and around four, Bucky fell asleep with his phone clutched in his hand, buzzing quietly with a string of new messages, until they stopped with Steve's goodnight one.

Lucky stayed asleep on his chest until Clint got up.

 **[** … **]**

“You're making it too easy for me, James!”

Bucky made a face at Natasha and groaned, as he regained his footing on the mat. “Are you forgetting that I've only got one arm, Tasha?”

“I remember when you could take me on with one hand behind your back,” Natasha told him, quirking a brow as a challenging glint in her eyes appeared. She shifted the sparring stick from one hand to the other, walking in a half circle around him.

“That was before you became a super secret spy,” said Bucky, following her with his eyes. Carefully and closely watching.

“Not a spy,” she reminded him.

Bucky huffed and shook his head. “If you don't tell me what it is you do other than government work, then you're a spy in my eyes,” he said, and his eyes shot to the side of the mat, when he noticed movement. Dugan was leaning against the door frame, watching them with an amused smile on his lips, mustache fluffy from recently being washed and brushed.

“What?” Bucky called out for him, spreading his arm wide.

“Nothing,” Dugan called back, the amused smile turning into a playful grin. “Just do me a favor, Sarge; give up. I've got good money on the Widow here.”

Natasha snickered, and Bucky narrowed his eyes at Dugan and flipped him off. “Traitor.”

Shield Gym was a gym on Court Street, owned by Nick Fury who was a rare sight in the actual building. Bucky had only met him three times in the few years he had been going there, dragged there by Natasha. Fury was big, muscly, and mysterious. He wore an eye patched and oozed authority wherever he walked.

Bucky half-suspected the guy was a secret spy who used the gym as a cover, but there was never any evidence of that other than his gut feeling. He also suspected Natasha knew, but every time he asked or even brought it up, she just shrugged and avoided the subject expertly.

Shield Gym was a two story building with all the good gear and clean showers and locker rooms that didn't smell like dudes' armpits and ball sweat, as well as a friendly staff and good trainers available at all times. It had room for everything you could ask for – yoga, pilates, sparring or boxing, treadmills, any exercise machine you could think of and then some.

Bucky had been coming there since before he lost his arm during his service. Natasha had dragged him to it during one of his early R&Rs, and she kept dragging him there even after he lost his arm for good, even after he couldn't get out of bed, even after he got freaked out by anything and everything. Even after all of it, she kept dragging him, and now she didn't need to. Because he came willingly.

He came willingly, because not only did working out help him stay relatively sane, he also got to see his army buddies at Shield Gym. Well, most of the time, that was.

The Howling Commandos – a nickname their unit had gotten during service – were people Bucky didn't see as often as he would like, now that they were all stateside and not going back over to fight the good fight. But at the gym, he did get to see them quite often.

“Barnes!”

Bucky turned away from Natasha just as they were about to pick up the fight again, and he saw Gabe step up behind Dugan and swing an arm around his shoulders, while sending the two of them smiles. He was sweaty, obviously either in the middle of his workout or just finished.

“Monty told me to tell you your phone's been going nuts in the lockers,” said Gabe with an inclination of his head, motioning toward the direction of the lockers.

Bucky frowned slightly and sighed. “Well,” he turned to Natasha and shrugged a shoulder. “Guess that means you win.” He tossed the sparring stick to her, which she caught with ease, and he headed for the door, sending Dugan a look. “Congrats, traitor.”

“Wahoo!” Dugan cheered loudly, throwing a fist up in the air. He turned and cupped his hands around his mouth before he yelled out, “Dernier! Barnes lost, pay up!” and Bucky could hear a familiar curse from the other side of the weight room.

In the locker room, the sound of the Commandos filled gym drowned out into the background, becoming a distant sound, and Bucky focused on the buzzing coming from the bag he had left in the locker room before going out there. A bag with a change of clothes, his arm, and everything else.

The buzzing stopped just as he unzipped it, and he reached in to grab the phone before it could start buzzing again.

Nineteen missed calls.

 _Nineteen_.

All from Tony Stark himself.

Groaning quietly to himself, Bucky sat down next to his bag on the bench and pressed call, phone pressed against his ear. It only rang twice before it got picked up.

“And here I started to think I was being ignored,” Tony greeted him. “Do you know how many times I called you? I mean, I don't. I lost count after ten, but it was a lot.”

“I'm at the gym,” Bucky explained, cutting Tony off from continuing. “Phone was in the bag. What do you want?”

“You know, you should really work on your attitude,” Tony told him, and Bucky rolled his eyes. “Here I am, being so nice and generous with a brand new arm for you, fully functional and extremely high tech, and you decide to be an ass. Didn't your mother ever teach you to be nice to the people giving you things for free?”

“No, she taught me to run the hell away from people giving me shit for free,” Bucky told him flatly.

Tony hummed shortly, unbothered by Bucky's dry sass. “Anyway, in case you missed that little bit, your arm's ready. Well, my arm but it's for you, Barnes. It's ready to be installed whenever you're up for it. Or reviewed, but I doubt you'll want any changes to this bad boy. It's a real work of art, if I do say so myself.”

Bucky hesitated, shoulders hanging as his eyes went to the ground below him. “What does it involve?” He was nervous. Why the hell was he nervous? It was just a new arm, no big deal. And yet...

And yet his heart was pounding, his palm felt sweaty, his head was spinning and his vision was swimming a little, his throat was dry, and he was having a tiny bit of a problem breathing steadily.

“The arm or the installation?” Tony asked, but he continued before Bucky could even open his mouth to respond. “The arm's got movement like a flesh and bone one, but with more wires than veins and more metal than bones and flesh. Vibranium, if you want to go into details, courtesy of king T'Challa of Wakanda himself. Works just like the real deal though, except with more strength and less sensory areas. Sleek and beautiful. It's detachable because vibranium isn't the most comfortable thing to sleep on, and I'm not about to give you cracked ribs.”

Bucky swallowed thickly, and Tony went on. “The installation requires surgery. Easy one, not a big one. I've got the good doctor Bruce Banner to help with it. You've met him, right? Short guy, all shy and big brain, but got a real nasty temper underneath the soft curls? Pretty sure you've met him.”

Bucky heard the unmistakable sound of desk chair wheels scraping across tiled floor, and he managed to choke out a weak, “Yeah, I've met 'im.”

“Excellent.” There was a pause where the sound of slurping sounded from Tony's end, and Bucky wanted to roll his eyes but he was having a minor freak out at the moment. “We'll keep you around for a day at most, you can bring a friend. The red head or bird guy. Well, I guess either of the bird guys. Whichever you want or none, if you prefer that. Then we plop the arm on, show you the hows and dos and don'ts, and you'll be on your way with a brand new Stark arm.”

Bucky took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, counting slowly in his head. “Okay. When?”

“Whenever you're ready for it, I'm game,” Tony told him, simple as that, and didn't continue.

Bucky thought about it for a moment, then nodded to himself. “Next week,” he decided. “Anytime next week.”

Tony hummed on the other end for a moment. “How does Wednesday at noon sound? Think you could work that into your schedule?”

“Yeah, that's fine,” Bucky said without thinking about it or checking to see if he was even free. When did he ever have plans, anyway?

“Great. See you then, sergeant.” And then Tony hung up, and Bucky pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, his eyes closing as he heaved out a shuttering breath.

This was ridiculous. Completely and utterly ridiculous. There he was, a grown ass man who had been to war, had lost an arm in a nasty explosion, had gone through terrible months of nightmares every night and panicking over the smallest inconvenience or sound, had done a lot of shit he wasn't proud of, and what was he doing now? Freaking out over getting a new prosthetic arm.

When Tony Stark had contacted him and offered to build him a new and better arm (“Won't cost you a dime. Consider it a thank you for serving our country.”) Bucky had been happy to get rid of his old, piece of garbage prosthetic that was now peeking out from the bag next to him.

He still was, he supposed. But he was nervous and, in some way, scared. He just couldn't figure out _why_.

“You look like shit.”

Bucky lifted his head from his hand and looked up at Natasha standing just a few steps from him, arms crossed and brows furrowed with worry. He sighed and sat up straight, lifting his phone for a moment before dropping his arm back to rest on his leg. “Stark's got my arm ready.”

Natasha watched him for a moment, the way she watched people she was trying to read. He was used to it by now, having known her for so many years, but it was still intimidating and it still made him want to cower away and hide in a corner or look away, still made him sweat and feel nervous for other reasons than his arm being ready.

After a moment, Natasha walked over and sat down on the bench opposite the one Bucky was on and faced him, crossing her leg over the other. “And how do you feel about that?”

She said it the way Bucky's therapist – both current and former ones – had said the same exact words a million times in the past, although with Natasha, it didn't feel like it was part of a job or a chore. It was genuine worry and concern.

“Great,” he told her with a shrug. It was a lie, he knew and she knew.

“James,” she said, her tone warning.

So he sighed and hung his head. “I'm fucking terrified, Tasha,” he admitted in a small voice, his hand clutching his phone that vibrated with a new message from Tony. He didn't want to look, not now.

Natasha was quiet for a moment, but he didn't look up at her. Instead, he focused on breathing. In and out. In and out. Air into his lungs, back out slowly.

Natasha stayed on the other bench for only a minute longer, letting him have his space, but then she moved over and sat down next to him, placing a comforting hand between his shoulder blades. “Do you want to know what I think you should do?”

Bucky huffed, going for amused but he probably didn't sound it. He didn't particularly feel it either. “You're gonna tell me anyway.”

“I think,” Natasha said, ignoring him, “you should go talk to Riley about it. He does have Stark tech, after all. He's been exactly where you are.”

She was right. Bucky hadn't known Riley when Riley had gotten his Stark leg braces, but Riley had been through what he had, so who better than him?

Bucky nodded and let out a heavy breath, his shoulders relaxing as Natasha rubbed his back. “You're right,” he told her, before he leaned into her, resting his head against her shoulder.

They stayed like that for a while.

Dernier came into the locker room after several minutes, grumbling about Dugan and the bet he'd lost. His grumbling stopped when he lifted his gaze and looked at the two of them, Bucky avoiding his eyes. He smiled softly, didn't ask, and gave Bucky's shoulder a gentle and comforting squeeze before he left them alone again.

When Bucky leaned back from Natasha and clipped his arm on, deciding to shower when he got home instead, Natasha walked him home and stayed until morning.

 **[** … **]**

Bucky didn't go straight to Riley, he went to Amanda first.

He did, however, text Sam to tell him to keep his boyfriend's schedule cleared for the evening the following day, when there was just eight days to Bucky's surgery and Bucky's new arm. He hadn't said why, but he suspected Natasha might have already spread the word around, because Sam didn't even ask.

The therapy session went as he had expected it to go, the words “And how do you feel about that?” being said by Amanda at least a dozen times, enough to make Bucky frustrated and tell her the truth; to blurt out that he was fucking terrified and he didn't even really know _why_ , and that was frustrating too, and he couldn't sleep and had lost appetite again and his mind just would not stop racing a million miles a minute.

Barely halfway through the session, Bucky couldn't breathe right, his hand was shaking, and Amanda let him sit and breathe until he felt alright again. When it took too long and he wouldn't listen to her, she called Sam, a familiar face to ground him.

“Hey man,” Sam greeted with a soft tone that Bucky knew as his therapist voice. Amanda left them alone in her office, Sam closed the door behind her and went over to sit by Bucky, who had his head in his hand, rubbing at his temple and trying to calm himself down.

His breathing exercise wasn't working, nor was his chant of reassurance (“You're okay, you're in Brooklyn, you're home, you're okay.”) that he kept repeating quietly to himself, his leg bouncing with anxiety.

Bucky only vaguely registered Sam moving to sit on his left, vaguely aware of the space he left between them. He was in his own head, frustrated and angry at himself for losing it over _good_ news, and only when Sam put a hesitant hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, did he release a heavy breath. It flew out of him like it had been punched out of him, but his shoulders sagged and his leg stopped bouncing and he could breathe again.

They sat in silence for a while, Sam rubbing soothing circles against his back and Bucky doing his best to just breathe and blink back the tears that threatened to spill.

“You okay?” Sam asked after Bucky took in a shuttering breath, and Bucky nodded but didn't say anything. “Alright, let's get you home.”

Bucky set himself on autopilot for the entire trip home, tuning out anything and everything around him, including Sam. He did, however, let Sam guide him, a grip on his flesh arm that was reassuring and comforting to have. He kept his head down and his gaze downcast on the whole train ride back, and he stood silently while Sam dug out the keys from his jacket pocket.

Clint wasn't home, Bucky remembered, when Lucky greeted them at the front door, sitting still and wagging his tail while looking at them with perked ears and head cocked to the side. He didn't move to say hi and just sat there, while Sam guided Bucky to the couch and got him to sit. Bucky suspected Sam might have told Lucky to stay put, but he was too in his own head to have heard.

Sam sat with him on the couch for a few minutes, both of them silent. Lucky trotted over and carefully laid his head on Bucky's knee. When Bucky did nothing and just continued to stare downward, Lucky sat down and kept his head on his knee.

“You're freaked out over the new arm,” Sam said after a while. It wasn't a question, it was a statement, and Bucky shrugged in response. “It's scary, I get it. I can't speak from experience, because I was never in your position. But what I can do is pick up Riley, and you can talk to him about it. I won't do it if it's too overwhelming for you right now, he's still free tomorrow. It's up to you, man.”

Bucky swallowed thickly and slowly, he raised his real hand and put it on Lucky's head, Lucky wagging his tail across the floor at the contact. “Get him,” he croaked, his voice strained and small.

While Sam left to get Riley, Bucky leaned back, and Lucky jumped onto the couch and laid his head in his lap. He wasn't sure how much time passed – could have been minutes (probably not, Sam and Riley lived thirty minutes away), could have been hours – but the door opened and Lucky didn't move away from him, nor did Bucky stop petting him slowly, absently.

When Riley walked into the living room area, Stark braces on and crutches supporting him, he sat down in the chair opposite the couch, facing Bucky and Lucky. Sam didn't join them. Instead, he walked into the kitchen and busied himself, giving them privacy.

“You wanna know how Tony approached me about my legs?” Riley started after a good minute or two's silence, and Bucky lifted his gaze from Lucky asleep on his thigh to him. There was a kind smile on Riley's lips, his crutches leaning against the side of the chair and a few of his fingers running along the braces on his right thigh.

“I was at the VA waiting for Sam to come pick me up, miserable and tired because my arms were sore after wheeling around for too long,” he continued, huffing lightly. “And this guy comes over to me, looking way too rich with his Armani suit and way too put together to be anywhere near this place, goatee and fucking expensive sunglasses, and I think wow, what douche wear sunglasses inside in the middle of winter?”

An involuntary and amused huff escaped Bucky. Yeah, that sounded like Stark.

“He comes over,” Riley went on, “and introduced himself and asks, straight out, if I would be interested in walking again. And I humor him and say sure. Fast forward a week and I've got Tony Stark calling me and asking if I prefer a brand new set of robot legs or fancy ass braces to help me move my legs again.”

He paused when Sam came walking into the living room, carrying two glass of water which he handed to the two of them. Bucky didn't take one, just let it sit on the coffee table, and Riley took his with a quick, “Thank you.” Sam sat down on the couch with Bucky, on the other side of Lucky, and Riley continued.

“Remember what I was like before putting these braces on for the first time?” he asked, the question directed at Sam who nodded with a sad smile on his lips. “I was scared shitless that these braces weren't going to work. That all they would give me was false hope and I would never be able to walk again, no matter how much Tony promised me that they would work. Guaranteed it, even though they're prototypes and he's still working on better ones. So when I went to check them out for the first time, I asked him why he does it, to put my mind at ease. Why he goes out of his way to help me, someone he doesn't even know, and why he does it for free.”

“You know what Stark used to do before he started making prosthetic for veterans?” Sam joined in, and Bucky nodded.

“Advanced weaponry for the army,” he said in a mumble. Anyone who had ever had anything to do with the army knew that.

“Advanced weaponry that fell into the wrong hands and killed innocent people,” said Riley with a nod. “He feels guilty about it, I guess, and wants to use his skills and resources for something good. Even though it's not his fault, he just took over the Stark company after his dad. Tony does it anyway, though. He's a good man. A lot to handle, but he's good.”

Sam hummed in agreement, and Bucky lowered his gaze to Lucky again, while Riley went on.

“You know, when I was shot down, I thought this is it. This is where I die, falling to my death. And then I woke up in a hospital bed, unable to move my legs, and I thought I was never going to walk again. I kept thinking I was doomed to be a burden for everyone around me, for Sam especially, because I was gonna be stuck in a wheelchair and not ever be able to use my legs again. I thought we'd have to think about wheelchair accessibility everywhere we went and that he'd have to help me pretty much everywhere, and he watched me get shot down, so there was that whole nightmare to deal with too.”

Riley huffed softly, and Bucky glanced up to see him shake his head. “I thought that was it. The end of my relationship with Sam and the end of my life. Sam's a good man and I love him with my whole heart, and I know he wouldn't just leave and that we'd both learn to deal with me being in a wheelchair for the rest of my life. But it was hard, the months where I was stuck in that wheelchair and failed at physiotherapy.”

“Then Stark got me these fancy ass braces,” Riley gestured down to said braces wrapped around his legs, “and suddenly, I could move my legs. I could stand up as long as I held onto something, and I just burst into tears like a damn baby, right in the middle of Stark's lab. Relieved, happy. I was so fucking scared that those braces weren't going to work or that Stark would kill me with the minor surgery they required to actually work, or that he talked out of his ass and made shit up. So I get why you're nervous and scared, but Bucky.”

Bucky looked at him, met his eyes. “It's gonna be worth the try. Even if you find out you don't like whatever new arm he gives you, it's gonna be worth it. Tony knows what he's doing.”

Bucky let out a slow breath he hadn't realized he had been holding in, and his shoulder slumped slightly as relief washed over him. It felt good to know Riley went through the exact same thing, the exact same state of panic and worry.

Bucky gave Lucky a gentle head scratch, a silent thank you for keeping him grounded, and he told Riley, “Thanks,” a moment later, swallowing thickly when he realized his voice was hoarse, his throat dry and rough. He eyed the glass of water on the table in front of him, but he didn't reach out to take it.

“Anytime,” Riley said with no hesitation and offered him a smile. “Have you thought about who to bring with you?”

Bucky shrugged even though he knew the answer. “Tasha, probably,” he said in a mumble. Slowly, he turned his head to look at Sam, hesitating before he spoke again. “You wanna come with?”

Sam didn't hesitate to say that yes, he did want to come, and him and Riley left a good half an hour later, when Bucky had downed his glass of water and his head was a little less clouded and he was a little less panicky.

He didn't move away from the couch though, and neither did Lucky. It was his phone buzzing on the coffee table that made him move, just enough to reach over and grab it, before he slumped back onto the couch cushions, Lucky never moving from his spot in his lap.

> **[01:48 PM] Punk** : Natasha told me. You okay?

Bucky rolled his eyes and groaned inwardly. Of course Natasha had told Steve too. He wasn't even surprised nor was he annoyed that Natasha hadn't kept her mouth shut about it – she usually did, if it was a secret and not something like him getting a new arm and freaking out about it. Natasha was good at keeping her mouth shut where it counted, and he guessed she knew he wouldn't have told Steve if she hadn't.

What he had with Steve was good. Steve hadn't seen him freak out yet, hadn't seen him break over the dumbest thing, and he wanted to keep it that way. Because he liked Steve and didn't want to fuck up the good friendship they had by letting Steve know what kind of huge mess Bucky really was.

It was bound to happen, he supposed. His thumb moved over the screen and typed in a message before he could fully think it over.

< **[01:49 PM] Bucky** : come over

He needed Steve. In the pit of his stomach, he knew he needed him. Being around Steve always calmed him down, always felt comfortable and nice, and even though Sam and Riley had managed to make him a little less panicky by talking to him, he was still riled up. Lucky helped, but Bucky needed Steve.

His phone buzzed before the screen could go black and lock.

> **[01:50 PM] Punk** : On my way.

Steve had only been over at his place once, the week before. Clint had invited him, had wanted to hang out with his hearing aid buddy, and Steve had stayed and played video games with Clint for hours on end. Bucky had sat leaning against Steve, reading a book and trying to focus on the words but it was hard when the two of them were yelling at each other every time one of them shot the other.

It had been nice, and Bucky had found out that he didn't mind people coming over so much.

There was a knock on the door several minutes later – how many, Bucky had no idea – and Lucky's ears perked but his head stayed where it was, never moving away from under Bucky's petting hand. Bucky didn't get up either, didn't trust his legs to support him, so, knowing full well it was Steve at the door, he shot him a text to let him know it was open.

The door opened a moment later, soft footsteps neared, and then Steve came into view, glasses in place and blue eyes full of worry and concern.

“Hey, Stevie,” said Bucky, forcing a smile he hoped would be sweet, wanting to ease the worry. Because he was fine, he was just being ridiculous.

Steve looked at him, his eyes flickering to Lucky wagging his tail and eyeing him with interest but not moving from his spot, and a small smile curled the corner of Steve's lips. “That looks cozy,” he said, nodding toward them.

Bucky hummed in agreement and looked down at Lucky. “It is,” he said, then looked back at Steve, willing down the flush that threatened to appear when he asked, “Wanna join?”

“Absolutely,” Steve didn't hesitate to say, didn't even wait more than a quick beat, before he walked over, stepped out of his shoes – converse again, rainbow colored shoe laces half down – and dumped his bag on the coffee table. He sat down next to Bucky on the couch and reached over to scratch Lucky's head.

Like a magnet, Bucky leaned into him. Just a little. Just enough to press his shoulder to Steve's, his stupid prosthetic arm a barrier between their thighs. He didn't want to bring it up. As much as he wanted to get rid of it or move it so he could fully lean into Steve's slim body, he didn't bring it up or move away to do so. He was just getting comfortable.

They sat in silence for a while, Bucky leaning into Steve and Steve letting him, both of them giving Lucky attention and pets. Bucky broke the silence.

“It was an IED,” he said, voice quieted to a whisper.

“Buck,” Steve said, hand stilled on top of Lucky's head, and he turned to him. “You don't have to tell me.”

“I know.” Bucky swallowed, keeping his eyes focused on the way Lucky's fur brushed through his fingers as he moved his hand along his back. “But I want to.”

Steve didn't say anything, and Bucky took in a deep breath before he continued. “We were going through this abandoned building. Dugan at the front, me in the back. None of us even suspected a thing until it was too late. The building collapsed.” He paused to swallow thickly, ignoring the way his heart was beating rapidly and the way his eyes burned with unshed tears, his hand shaking slightly.

“Falsworth broke his leg, and I got my left arm pinned down by the debris. The others were fine,” he went on. “Took the guys an hour to get my arm free and by then, I'd lost all feeling in it 'cause the bomb had gone off right next to me and my arm was pretty much gone already.” He paused when Steve moved his hand to Bucky's knee, and he slowly leaned more into him. Just a bit.

“When I got home and out of the hospital with a shit replacement for my left arm, I was a fuckin' mess,” he told him and let out a humorless chuckle. “Didn't sleep but spend days in bed. Didn't eat, didn't speak, didn't shower. Panicked at everything when Tasha finally managed to drag me outside. I ended up lashing out and would've probably hurt someone if she hadn't gotten me somewhere quiet. Was like that for a while and it was terrible. I felt useless and worthless, and I just wanted to die.”

The hand on his knee squeezed gently, and Bucky sniffled. “'s been a while since I've had a freak out like I had when Stark told me my arm's ready and at the VA today,” he admitted in a murmur. He shrugged a shoulder before he continued. “I'm fine now. Sam got me home, Riley talked to me about the arm thing, so...”

“I don't believe you,” Steve said, and Bucky lifted his head to meet his eyes. Steve was looking at him, brows furrowed slightly but there was no pity in his eyes, just worry and concern. “Bucky, I know you're a second from breaking down, and I know we don't know each other that well yet, but I'm here for you.”

Bucky's heart warmed and clenched, and with a soft breath escaping him in a quiet sigh, he leaned to the side and rested his head on Steve's bony, yet comfortable, shoulder. “I'm scared,” he said in a small whisper, throat tight.

Sensing his distress, Lucky lifted his head and lightly poked his snout into Bucky's hand, whimpering softly.

“What are you scare of?” Steve asked in a whisper as well, voice soft.

Bucky shrugged. Everything, was the answer. He was scared of everything that would happen once he stepped out of his apartment and went into the subway and headed to Manhattan and stood in Stark Tech's lobby. He was scared of seeing the finished product of his arm, scared that it wouldn't do him any good and just send him spiraling into a bad place and that this time, he wouldn't be able to get back out.

He didn't want to go back in a bad place. He had worked so hard and so long to get where he was now.

“Having a setback,” he finally admitted, and he let out a heavy breath when Steve's thumb rubbed a gentle circle against his leg.

Steve didn't say anything for a minute and when he did, he wasn't whispering anymore. “How 'bout I make you a promise? If you have a setback, I'll go kick Tony Stark's rich ass and then come kick you out of bed. How does that sound?”

Bucky huffed out a little chuckle. “Sounds good, Stevie.”

Bucky was still leaning against Steve, Steve now with his arm wrapped around his shoulders, and Lucky was still firmly planted in Bucky's lap, now asleep and snoring softly, when the door opened at least an hour later. Clint walked in, still in his shooting range gear and bow in hand.

He shot the two a calculating look, and Bucky saw the knowing smile the second before it arrived. He wanted to groan or maybe flip him off, but he didn't. He was too exhausted from the emotional day he had had to be an ass to Clint.

Clint didn't say anything or make any teasing remarks like he usually would have – looked like Natasha had gotten to him as well – but he did join them on the couch and started talking about his adventure at the range with Kate.

Bucky stayed cuddled up against Steve's side as he listened. Steve didn't seem to mind, and Bucky had a flash of guilt or sadness go through his heart when he realized there was nothing platonic about this.

Not for him. Definitely not for him.

Oh, he was so screwed.

 **[** … **]**

 **AUGUST – MONTH TWO, WEEK TWO**.

Come Wednesday, Bucky found himself standing on the sidewalk in front of the Stark Tech building, although it was tall enough to be claimed a tower. He swallowed back the nervous lump in his throat and tilted his head just a bit back to look at the sign spelling out Stark Tech above the entrance doors.

Despite not looking and despite being a little bit in his own head, focused on the nerves, Bucky didn't flinch or jump when there was a hand (gently) slapped onto his shoulder. He just lowered his head and turned to look at Sam who gave him a crooked smile.

“You ready to go in?” Sam asked, motioning toward the entrance with his head.

Bucky's eyes went to his right next, to where Natasha was standing and giving him an encouraging smile, and he swallowed again and nodded tightly, before he went inside, the other two trailing after him.

The Stark tower was big. Bucky would even go as far as to call it ginormous. A big, ugly building in the middle of Manhattan. A real eyesore that towered over most of its surrounding buildings and made sure everyone knew who it belonged to with the word _Stark_ plastered at the very top in big, bold letters. Because Tony Stark's ego was just that big, alright.

The lobby, as big as the rest of the building, had security guards milling around – Bucky saw Carol somewhere to the right, knew she saw him too, but he didn't acknowledge her. It was probably rude, but he needed to focus before he chickened out – and a few people in suits and various other forms of formal wear. They all looked busy, except for one guy near the elevators leading up and down.

He was big and round and the serious expression he held on his face looked forced. Like he was trying to be intimidating and thought it worked, but Bucky could tell it didn't.

“James Barnes?” the man greeted them once they got close enough. Bucky nodded and stopped in front of him, ignoring the dampness in his right hand. “I'm Happy,” he introduced himself as and reach out a hand to shake. Bucky didn't take it, Happy didn't look offended. “If you'll follow me, I'll bring you to Mr. Stark.”

Bucky spend the entire elevator ride up staring at a little dent in the wall below the fingerprint pad, vaguely aware of Natasha and Sam chatting behind him and Happy humming some tune quietly to himself. Having been there before, he didn't even jump when the elevator spoke. However, he was too focused on his breathing, too focused on trying to stay calm, that he didn't really hear what it said.

When the doors pinged open, he took in a deep breath and followed Happy onto the floor.

Tony was there immediately, walking toward them from the other end of the hallway and with a big smile on his lips and mechanical gloves still covering his hands. “Nice of you to show up on time, Barnes!” he greeted him, and Bucky didn't bother retorting with anything more than a glare. “And you brought your guard dogs, I see.”

Tony looked between Natasha and Sam for a moment. His eyes lingered on Sam for a second longer, then he asked, “How's the boyfriend doing? Legs still doing alright?”

Sam nodded once, arms crossed. “Legs working just fine, thank you.”

“You're very welcome,” said Tony and then turned to Natasha. “How 'bout yours? Still not interested in some Stark hearing aids? I could make them purple too, you know. That's his favorite color, right?”

Bucky turned slightly and met Natasha's eye, sending her a questioning look. She hadn't told him anything about Stark wanting to make Clint anything. Neither had Clint, though.

Natasha only met his gaze for a moment, before she turned to give Tony a smile – fake, Bucky noticed immediately. “He still says no thank you,” she told Tony. “Maybe if you actually talked to him yourself, he'd be easier to convince.”

Tony hummed noncommittally for a short second, before he turned to Bucky again. “You ready to see your super cool new robot arm?” he asked and rested a hand on Bucky's prosthetic arm, not seeming bothered by it despite Bucky tensing up immediately. He couldn't feel it, but just knowing someone he wasn't that close to touched him was enough to freak him out slightly.

Tony guided him to the end of the hallway and into another room that looked an awful lot like a surgical room, except with more laboratory over it. Bucky recognized doctor Bruce Banner instantly. The guy had gotten tanner since he last saw him, older too. Happier, even.

“James,” Bruce greeted with a nod from where he sat across the room, not moving to shake their hands.

Bucky had met Bruce during his time at the hospital, only weeks after his arm had gotten blown off, and he had been helpful in learning how to deal with that whole thing. And while Bucky wasn't comfortable with touches from a lot of people, Bruce wasn't comfortable with touches from anyone but people closest to him. Like his wife, Betty Ross, and only occasionally Tony.

Bucky nodded back at him shortly, then turned his attention to Tony when he clapped his hands together.

“Okay,” he said and walked over to a table. “Jarvis, bring up the new arm.”

“Certainly, sir,” the computer replied, and a second later, a hologram picture of a metallic arm appeared from the screen, rotating over the surface. It was sleek, looked just like a real arm except with more plates of metal than skin.

Bucky had seen it before, of course he had. But this was the finished product, so he stepped over to get a closer look at it, as did Sam. Natasha still stood in the doorway.

“What do you think?” Tony asked, and Bucky felt eyes on him but he didn't turn to look back. “Do we like it? No last minute changes or anything? I could give it a paint job, make it look fancy and pretty, if that's what you want.”

Bucky shook his head slightly. “No, it's...” Better than the one attached to him now, more functional, a _robot_ arm. “It's fine.”

“Excellent!” Tony appeared in his field of view a moment later and handed him a stack of papers. “Sign these, please. Legal crap that the good Miss Potts will kill me over if you don't sign. Well, at least before we go through with the surgery.”

Bucky was already picking up the pen to sign, when Sam spoke. “What exactly does the surgery involve, again?”

Tony spoke while Bucky scribbled his signature messily where he was supposed to, hand oddly still. “We'll put a sleeve on his stump. Metallic one with magnetic plates to connect the rest of the arm. Thank you,” he said to Bucky and took the papers back. “Like with Riley's legs, we'll hardwire it to his nerves, so he can actually move the arm. Fully functional, like I promised.”

“And either of us,” Sam gestured between him and Natasha, “can stay overnight with him, right?”

“Of course,” Tony was quick to say, putting the signed papers on the table in front of Bruce. “Both of you can, if you and the Buckster want. We'll even get you each a bed and extra blankets. Dinner and breakfast included.”

“Can we just get it over with?” Bucky interrupted the conversation with, lifting his gaze from where he had been boring holes into the ground to look at Tony. He ignored the others staring at him – all four of them with varying looks of worry and concern.

Tony nodded and said, “Sure thing. Let's go get you prepped for surgery, so we can get this show on the road.”

 **[** … **]**

It was Thursday morning, and where his stump had been full of ugly, nasty looking scars were plates of metal now. The end of it had previously been covered by a black fabric that he had been told he could roll on again when he took the arm off, and underneath it were places he could attach the arm. Tony was currently holding it.

“This might be difficult the first couple of times by yourself,” Tony was saying. Bucky wasn't really listening, eyes focused on the metal attached to his stump. “So you might want Spysassin over there,” Tony motioned toward where Natasha was sitting on the chair in the room, phone in hand but all focus on the two of them, “to help you.”

Sam had left when night had fallen a few hours after the surgery the day before, needing to get home to Riley. Natasha had stayed over night. Bucky was pretty sure Clint had come to visit sometime during the night as well, but he hadn't really noticed, too out of it on painkillers to really notice.

Bucky was vaguely aware of Bruce standing near the bed, but he didn't focus on that. Tony kept talking as the arm was put on and clicked into place, and Bucky flinched slightly at the feeling of it connecting. It was odd. Not unpleasant but not pleasant either. Slightly uncomfortable but only for a short second.

“And this is where you try moving your hand, Barnes,” Tony said after a moment of prolonged silence. “Go on, give it a squeeze.”

Bucky hesitated, eyes fixed on the metal hand laying on his left thigh. It wasn't heavy, it was actually really light but it still weighed enough so he knew it was there. Holding his breath, he tried moving his left hand and the metal fingers twitched ever so slightly. The arm whirred silently as the fingers continued to twitch, and Bucky kept holding his breath, his eyes locked onto them.

His mind was blank and his jaw was set tight, throat dry.

“Okay, now to the dos and don'ts,” Tony said and continued talking, but Bucky stopped listening.

Tony must have kept talking for ages and not noticing Bucky's emotionless testing of the arm, because then Bruce cut in with a soft but firm “Tony,” and there was silence.

The silence was long, or maybe it wasn't, Bucky didn't know. It was disturbed by Tony asking, “You okay there, Barnicle?” and Bucky nodded tightly. “Alright, I'll need you to come back in for a check up in two weeks or so, but you're good to go.”

Bucky was clenching the metal hand, the arm whirring quietly, and he ignored Natasha's concerned look all the way to the elevator. He wanted to get out of there and back home in his own room and his own bed as fast as possible, but Tony stopped him before Natasha could press the elevator button.

“Barnes,” he started. If Bucky looked at him, he would see the slight worry that was present in Tony's eyes, but he didn't so he didn't. “Please wear it often. To get used to it, of course, but it's also really cool, if I do say so myself. And quite the magnet for guys, I've heard. The nerds will be falling all over you, mark my words.”

Bucky stayed quiet, and Tony nodded with a short jerk of his head. A hand hovered over Bucky's shoulder, like Tony was going to pat him, but he decided against it. Bucky appreciated it.

“You take care of him, Romanoff,” he heard Tony say just as the elevator doors slid open and he stepped inside.

“I will definitely try,” Natasha told him back, following Bucky into the elevator.

The elevator ride was quiet, as was the subway ride and the walk to his apartment building. Clint made a comment about his arm, but Bucky didn't hear it, nor did he stop walking.

Not until he made it to his room, which was when he shut the door and pulled off the arm.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp
> 
> Rebloggable on [tumblr](http://hoechlbutt.tumblr.com/post/154086744638).
> 
> Kudos and comments give me life. <3


	6. August, part two

**AUGUST – MONTH TWO, WEEK TWO + THREE**.

On day one, no one bothered him.

Clint stuck his head in and asked if he was hungry in the middle of the afternoon, and even though he got no reply, Bucky found a plate of cold food on his bedside table the next time he came back to consciousness. Lucky came in and put his head next to Bucky's on the bed for a good ten minutes, but even he gave up when Clint came back from the shooting range.

On day two, Natasha stuck her head in and sat with him for a good hour trying to get a response. She got nothing, and Bucky didn't leave his bed or put his arm on. It stayed on the bedside table, where his previous shitty prosthetic used to lay.

On day three, both Natasha and Sam came by to try to get something out of him. Sam got a grunt, which was a start, and Natasha would have gotten a fist square to her jaw if she didn't have the reflexes she had.

It was her own fault. She tried to manhandle him out of bed, and he didn't want to leave.

On day four, Bucky was certain he heard Steve's voice from the living room, and he almost went out of bed to check. Almost.

On day five, Sam and Clint tried to get him out to run with them, and Bucky threw the dumb, metal arm at them, denting the wall.

On day six, Bucky canceled his therapy appointment.

On day seven, he shut off his phone.

Day eight, Natasha came back and let Lucky into his room. Natasha stayed and talked quietly for a few hours, and Lucky stayed curled up next to him in bed until the ninth day.

Day ten, Bucky stared at the arm back on the bedside table for an hour straight, then at the sleeve covering his stump for another, and then he broke down and cried himself to a sleep full of nightmares that woke him up screaming more times than he could count on his flesh-and-bone hand.

On day eleven, Clint ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner in his room but didn't talk.

On day twelve, Steve came over.

**[** … **]**

Steve was angry.

He had been in the middle of putting the finishing touches to a page for a new Avenger Comic, when Natasha had texted him.

> **[03:58 PM] Natasha** : Got send out of the country. Do me a favor and check on Bucky :)

He had texted back, asking how he was doing – he hadn't heard a single thing from Bucky in over a week, since before he got a new prosthetic arm, and he was worried – and Natasha had told him about Bucky's setback, this text with a lot less of her trademark smiley faces.

Bucky had been so scared of having a setback before the procedure, Steve remembered. So yeah, Steve was really fucking angry as he walked down the street toward Bucky and Clint's place.

He wasn't even really sure who he was angry at or if he was even angry at anyone, but anger was what he felt. Angry at the world, maybe, for giving a guy like Bucky more Hell to go through. Hadn't the guy been through enough already?

Silently and in his mind, Steve raised his middle finger at the universe.

The door was locked when he made it to the right apartment, and no one but Lucky's barking from the other side of the door answered when he knocked. Shifting the box he was carrying from his right hand to his left, he dug out his phone and send Clint a text asking if he was home and if so, could he please let him in.

> **[04:43 PM] Clint** : [bow and arrow emoji] w kate key under troll!

Steve's eyes wandered to the left of the apartment door, to where a stone troll sat leaning against the door frame. According to Bucky, Clint had found it in a dumpster and while people normally hid their spare key on top of the door frame or under the doormat, those two hid it under the honestly ugly stone troll.

Steve crouched down, lifted the troll, and grabbed the spare key from under it. He let himself into the apartment and was immediately greeted by Lucky, who was sitting by the door, tail wagging frantically at the sight of him. Only when Steve stepped inside and the door was closed, however, did Lucky move over to properly say hi and sniff at both Steve's bag over his shoulder and at the box he was carrying.

“Hey you,” Steve greeted back and scratched his ear with his free hand. He smiled down at Lucky for a moment, before he lifted his gaze and looked around the apartment. “Shit.”

The apartment was a complete and utter mess, and Steve was barely even inside of it. He knew Bucky liked to keep things clean, while Clint didn't care because he was the messiest person Steve had ever met, so that confirmed it. Bucky hadn't been out of bed or out of his room for way too long.

Steve walked into the living room area, stepping over the mess while Lucky trailed after him, and put down the box – muffins, the smell making his own stomach rumble – and his bag on the table, before he walked down the hall toward Bucky's room.

The door was closed, and he couldn't hear anything happening on the other side, so he rapped his knuckles against the wood of it lightly a few times. “Bucky?”

No response.

“Bucky, I'm gonna come in, alright?” He waited another moment but when he still got no response, he grabbed the handle and pushed the door open.

The blinds were closed, shutting out the daylight outside, and the lights were off. The room itself was surprisingly clean for someone who hadn't been out of bed for more than a week. Steve's eyes landed on the prosthetic arm on the bedside table first, but he quickly looked over to the lump on the bed instead. The lump rising and falling steadily as Bucky breathed.

Sam had warned him, before he came over, that Bucky could and probably would lash out. Sam had told him to be careful, as had Natasha, but Steve wasn't afraid. This was Bucky, for Christ's sake. Bucky wouldn't intentionally hurt him, Steve knew that.

So slowly, Steve walked around the bed and crouched down next to the side of it where Bucky lay, blanket pulled over his head but face visible. He looked terrible. Tired and blank and sad.

Steve knew that look. After all, he had been there many times before.

“Hey,” he whispered softly and smiled at him, even though Bucky continued to not look at him or anything, really. “You remember the promise I made you? I already kicked Tony's ass,” he had send an angry email, but it was close enough, “so I'm here to kick you out of bed now.”

Still nothing.

“But,” Steve continued, standing back up. “I think you might fight me on that and that'll only make it worse, so I'll let you come out in your own time. And since Clint isn't here, I'm gonna steal your dog and watch Disney movies by myself until then.”

He waited a few seconds for a response that didn't come, before he turned and walked toward the door again. Lucky was sitting in the hall, waiting obediently. He stopped, however, just as he reached the door and turned to look back at Bucky.

“Oh, and I bought some of your favorite muffins on the way over,” he told him, smiling when the lump shifted slightly. “Guess I'll have to eat those myself too.”

Steve let the door stay opened, and he went and made himself comfortable on the couch after putting on Mulan, Lucky having made himself comfortable by his feet. He barely got ten minutes into the movie, before he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.

Bucky was still wrapped up in his blanket, looking like a giant burrito, but he was up and out of bed, so Steve smiled at him and held out a hand in a silent invitation.

Bucky was a pretty big and bulky man, and he looked more than a little ridiculous as he shuffled across the floor, the blanket wrapped tightly around him, but Steve didn't laugh or snort. No, because Bucky's face was still pinched and sad, and even from where he sat, Steve could see the dark circles under his red eyes. This wasn't a laughable situation.

Steve did, however, admit to himself that Bucky looked cute wrapped up in a blanket like that. Adorable, even.

Bucky practically flopped down on the couch and didn't hesitate to lean into Steve's side, and Steve put his arm around the blanket burrito, while Lucky jumped onto the couch and put his head in Bucky's lap with a soft sigh.

Bucky ate exactly two and a half of the five muffins Steve had brought over, and they both watched the movie in silence, Bucky a constant and warm pressure against Steve's side. Steve didn't mind it one bit, and just kept his arm wrapped around him.

It was near the end of Mulan, when Bucky spoke up.

“Could you,” he started, then cut himself off to clear his throat. His voice was rough from the disuse, and he shifted slightly before he tried again. “Could you maybe... help me with my arm?”

Steve took his eyes off of Mulan on the screen and turned his head to look down at where Bucky was leaning his head against his chest. “Sure,” he instantly agreed. “But you're gonna have to come out of your blanket burrito.”

Bucky's face scrunched up, and he sighed heavily before he slowly pulled himself up to sit. The blanket stayed wrapped around him for another moment, but he pulled it down after Lucky had moved out of his lap. Bucky's hair was put up in a messy bun, and he was wearing a long sleeved shirt that had the left sleeve flapping loosely against his side.

Steve left the couch to grab the arm from Bucky's bedside table – it was much lighter than it looked, and it was probably the coolest thing he'd ever seen – and when he returned, the blanket was removed completely but the shirt was still on.

“Might be easier without your shirt on,” said Steve as he sat down, trying very hard not to flush at the thought of seeing Bucky shirtless.

Bucky shifted, looking uncomfortable. “It's not,” he started in a mutter. “I've got scars, and it's not...” He let out a heavy sigh and lifted his gaze to meet Steve's. “It ain't pretty.”

Steve held his gaze for a moment, just looking at him. Then, resting the prosthetic arm in his lap, he grabbed the hem of his own shirt and lifted it up until his chest was revealed. Among the tattoos scattered across his torso were several scars. The biggest and most obvious one was straight down the middle of his chest. Heart surgery.

“We've all got scars, Buck,” he said softly, ignoring the heat gathering in his cheeks at the feeling of Bucky's eyes on his bare skin. “They're not pretty, but scars are a part of you. Scars mean you've survived.”

Bucky's eyes lingered on the scars along Steve's torso for several moments longer, and when he nodded slowly, Steve pulled his own shirt down again, while Bucky moved to take his off.

It wasn't pretty, Bucky didn't lie about that. The scars along his left side were angry and pink, getting worse the closer they got to his shoulder and ending where skin became metal where there used to be a stump.

It wasn't pretty, but it was _Bucky_ and Bucky had survived.

“Thank you,” Steve said softly after a moment, and Bucky met his eyes slowly and almost hesitantly. “For trusting me enough to show that. I know it's not easy.”

Bucky looked at him, expression going soft, and there was a slight twitch at the corner of his lips that could have been a smile, but it was gone before it could ever become that.

Getting the arm on, as it turned out, was much easier than Steve had thought it would be. Bucky's face pinched in slight discomfort for a moment while it whirred into place, and soon after, the fingers wiggled slightly, and Steve watched with wonder as the hand curled and uncurled into a fist a few times.

“Woah,” he breathed before he could stop himself. “Okay, that's really fuckin' cool.”

Bucky was quiet as the hand continued to move, and Steve tore his eyes away from it to look at him. The second he saw the sad look on Bucky's face, his own smile dropped. “Buck?”

“I don't deserve this,” Bucky whispered quietly, the hand curling into a tight fist that had the arm whirring softly.

“Yes, you do,” Steve told him firmly without a second's hesitation.

Bucky shook his head. “No, I-” He cut himself off to swallow thickly. “Steve, I dropped out of college to join the army, 'cause I got scared of the future. I dropped everything and went and got my fucking arm blown off, and I came home a goddamn mess that couldn't do shit.” His voice was rough, and even though he couldn't see his face, Steve could tell he was seconds from breaking. “And now I've got a new arm that works just like a real one and I freaked out, and now I'm back at square one, and I don't deserve-”

“Bucky,” Steve interrupted with the same firm tone as before. “You deserve that arm as much as anyone else. Just because you freak out and have a setback does not mean you're any less worthy of it. And you might be back at square one, but you're not alone. You've got Natasha and Clint and Sam and... and me.”

Bucky lifted his head slightly and met his gaze, and Steve reached out to carefully take Bucky's hand – the prosthetic one – in his own, his eyes never leaving Bucky's. He gave the hand a gentle squeeze. “We all care about you,” he continued in a soft voice. “That's not gonna change, no matter what.”

Bucky looked at him, eyes flickering across his face, and Steve felt a tightness around his hand as Bucky squeezed it. It was surprisingly gentle coming from such a metallic arm, but not surprising at all coming from a man like Bucky.

Bucky said nothing when he moved forward and practically fell into Steve's arms, head landing on his chest. Steve fell backward against the arm of the couch, and he didn't hesitate to wrap his arm around Bucky, his hand on the other arm still trapped by Bucky's. He didn't mind it.

They sat like that, cuddled together, for a long while, while the screen of the television went back to the main menu of the disk. And when Bucky spoke again, his voice was slightly muffled by the fabric of Steve's shirt.

“I think you might be my best friend, Stevie,” he muttered quietly.

Steve ignored the skip his heart did and instead snorted softly. “I thought that was Natasha.”

Bucky grunted and shifted against Steve to make himself more comfortable, cheek against his bony chest. Steve doubted it was comfortable, but Bucky looked content to stay there, so he didn't say anything. He just tried not to blush and to keep his heart as calm as he could. He could always blame it on his shitty heart, anyway.

“I can have two,” Bucky mumbled.

Steve smiled lightly down at him and said, “Well, then I think you might be my best friend too, Buck.”

Bucky tilted his head to look at him. “What about Peggy? And Sam?”

Steve raised a brow at him. “Oh, so you can have two best friends, but I can't?”

“Not three, no.”

He shook his head. “Well, Peggy is,” he started, then stopped for a moment. “She's my best friend, but she's... she's more than that.” Peggy was his first real friend, the first person he had ever had a serious crush on, although it had disappeared quickly, and the first person he kissed, too. “She taught me how to fight,” he told him, a little smile tugging at his lips at the memory. “Tried to teach me how to dance, but I've got two left feet and kept stepping on her toes.”

Bucky let out a small huff of a breath that Steve thought might have been a chuckle, and he smiled down at him. “And Sam's like a brother to me, so yeah. You're my best friend, Bucky.”

“Good,” said Bucky, and then rested his cheek against Steve's chest again.

They were quiet for a while, Luck asleep on the floor beside them, but Steve broke the silence a few minutes later with a snort when a thought hit him.

“My best friend is a cyborg,” he said, grinning. “That should be a comic.”

Bucky scoffed and nudged him.

**[** … **]**

Steve managed to get Bucky to take a shower later in the day. He managed to drag him out of the apartment for a walk with Lucky the day after, and Sam and Clint managed to drag Bucky out for a run the day after that.

On one condition: if Steve came with them.

So while the three of them jogged around the park near noon – because Steve had straight-out refused to get up as early as their usual run – Steve sat in the shade of a tree and drew. It forced Steve out of his apartment too, so it was good for both of them.

Bucky only jogged for about twenty minutes though, before he came over and watched Steve draw, until Sam and Clint were finished with their run.

Natasha returned to the country the night between Thursday and Friday, and when Steve came over on Friday, he found Bucky sitting on the floor with Lucky in his lap and Natasha on the couch behind him, braiding his hair.

Steve smiled at them and stepped further inside, after he had toed out of his shoes. “You look pretty,” he told Bucky, when he turned to look at him.

Bucky raised his metal hand and flipped him off.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rebloggable on [tumblr](http://hoechlbutt.tumblr.com/post/154086744638).
> 
> Kudos and comments give me life. <3


	7. September, part one

**SEPTEMBER – MONTH THREE, WEEK ONE**.

Steve itched at the bare skin on his shoulder, the only spot on his right shoulder that wasn't covered in something yet. It had been ages since he last got a tattoo – four months and three days, to be exact – and he missed having a new artwork on his body, a new piece to admire and trace with his fingertips.

Slowly, with the tips of his fingers still lightly touching at the bare skin, he moved his gaze over to the couch where Bucky was laying, one arm tugged behind his head and metal hand holding the book he was reading open. His shirt was tugged up slightly, revealing a sliver of tanned skin and a sharp hip bone, and Steve tried not to look for too long.

Next, his gaze fell onto the sketchbook opened in his lap, his pencil stilled on the paper where he had been sketching Bucky. Subtly at first, but then Bucky had caught him staring and had smirked before shifting into a more … well, a more seductive pose.

Steve had told him, “If you make any Titanic references, I'm kicking you out,” and Bucky had stayed quiet and swallowed up by his book for the past fifteen minutes, giving Steve the quiet to draw him.

Bucky had been hanging out around Steve a lot more since his setback. Usually, he just hang around in his apartment while Steve worked, usually just reading or dicking around on his computer, watching an absurd amount of cat videos, or cleaning up Steve's mess or just quietly doing his own thing.

Steve didn't mind it one bit, it was actually pretty nice having him around.

He broke the quiet in the apartment, however, when he made up his mind about the bare skin on his shoulder.

“Buck,” he said, then waited until Bucky pulled his attention from his book. Steve held out a hand. “Hand me my phone, please.”

Putting the book down on his chest, Bucky reached over to grab Steve's phone from the table next to him and held it up. “Catch?”

Steve quirked a brow and said, “I can't afford a new phone, no.”

Bucky groaned quietly as he sat up, book now face down on the table. “I'm ruining the pose for this, you lazy punk.”

“Worth it,” said Steve and took the phone from him when it was handed to him. “Thanks.”

Bucky hummed quietly in return, eyes on the unfinished sketch in Steve's lap. “Hm, looks good,” he commented in a lowered voice, then returned to the couch.

“I'm just drawing what I see,” Steve told him, eyes on the phone as he thumbed through it.

“I know,” Bucky said, and Steve lifted his gaze momentarily to see him grinning, so he rolled his eyes at him and send a text to Thor.

< **[04:56 PM] Steve** : You got time to ink me sometime this week?

Steve was putting detail on Bucky's face, when his phone buzzed with a response.

> **[05:12 PM] Thor** : ANYTHING FOR YOU CAP

Steve groaned quietly at the nickname but smiled privately at the capital letters.

Thor's caps lock wasn't broken, and he knew how to type in lower cases and with proper grammar and everything. But this, him texting in all caps, was a thing from back in college. Someone, one of their fellow college students, had told him, “It's like you're talking in permanent caps lock, dude, lower the volume,” because Thor was not only a big man, he was also pretty loud with his booming voice and joyous laughter.

Thor never texted in anything but capital letters after that – not to Steve, not to Peggy, not to Angie.

Steve agreed on a time with Thor, and Bucky got up from the couch just when he was putting the finishing touches on the drawing of him lounging on the couch, the lighting soft, and Steve had to admit that it was pretty beautiful.

But it was of Bucky, so that was no surprise.

Despite Steve protesting and saying he could just order something, Bucky made the two of them dinner, and the next day, Steve found himself walking into Asgardian Ink.

Asgardian Ink was Thor's tattoo parlor in Brooklyn. It was a decently sized place with room for three people to get inked at the same time. The walls were full of art by all the artists – a few of Steve's as well, because Thor had gotten him to draw out a few tattoos in the past – and the window at the front let in fresh daylight.

Thor had started out with just him and Darcy Lewis, but as soon as his friends from back home – the cold land of Norway – had come to the states as well, the place grew and it grew quick. Now, it was popular enough to have a steady stream of customers and even regulars.

Regulars like Steve himself, although he didn't have to pay as often as the rest of them. Perks of being old friends with the owner.

“Steven!” was how he was greeted as soon as he pushed the door open, and he smiled at Thor. Now that he was there, he couldn't deny that he had missed his friend.

What he hadn't missed, however, was the way Thor liked to greet him.

“It is good to see you, my friend!” Thor called out as he strode over. The moment he was over by him, he bend down slightly, wrapped his big arms around Steve's tiny body, and picked him up as he hugged him, laughing brightly.

Steve groaned and ignored Sif laughing from the back of the parlor and Darcy laughing from the front. “You know I hate that!” he complained loudly and struggled until he was put back down, but he didn't fight the smile that curled at his lips.

He did punch Thor on the arm, though. Just for the lift.

“Are you ever gonna stop doing that?” he asked, knowing his glare fell short at Thor's beaming grin but it didn't stop him from trying.

“I think not,” said Thor and put his arm around Steve's shoulders. Steve was short and tiny, while Thor was tall and big, so Thor didn't have to raise his arm all that much to wrap it around him. Steve used to really, really hate that. Now, he had gotten used to it and hated it less. “It has been too long since I've seen you, I will lift you through the entire country if I must!”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Thor, I've got two working legs. And anyway, that's not why I'm here.”

“We shall plan out piggyback trip around the states of America another time,” Thor decided and squeezed Steve into his side, and Steve groaned at him but couldn't help the fond smile that formed on his lips, when Thor guided him into the shop and toward the tattoo chairs. “For now, let us get you inked, Captain.”

Steve said nothing about the nickname – he had given up on making anyone quit that a long time ago, but he still kept the reason behind it a secret for those who didn't know. Like Bucky, for instance – and let himself be guided past where Fandral was busy tattooing someone's back and where Sif and the rest of the crew were sitting and drawing up a few other things.

When they reached the back chair, Steve sat down, faced Thor, and asked him, “What have you got for me?”

Thor showed him the outline of it – a pair of stag antlers. “For your strength and persistence,” Thor told him – and then when Steve nodded in approval, they got to work. Steve took his shirt off and laid back, and Thor put the stencil on and bend down to work.

After the ridiculous amount of tattoos he had on his body and after the amount of hospital visits he had had in his life, Steve had no problems with needles whatsoever. There was still that little buzz of a sting whenever Thor pressed the needle into his skin, but it wasn't unpleasant. Rather, it left him excited to see the finished product.

“Margaret tells me you have acquired a new love,” Thor said casually partway through the tattoo, and Steve groaned and covered his eyes with his left hand.

“Peggy has fucking got to stop gossiping,” he muttered to himself, then turned to Thor and spoke up. “Bucky and I are just friends, that's it.”

“Ah, Bucky!” Thor exclaimed and paused tattooing for a second to send him a blinding smile. “A strong name! Is he a good man?”

“I mean, yeah, but-”

“Then he is a worthy man for you, Steve.”

Steve groaned. “Thor, he's just my friend. My best friend, actually!”

But Thor completely ignored him and went on. “You must bring him to my Jane and I's wedding!”

That had Steve dropping everything else. “Wait, you and Jane are getting married?”

Thor nodded and said, “I will ask for her hand in marriage soon, and if she accepts, we shall have a grand wedding.”

Steve smiled widely at him, while the others took a moment to applaud loudly, Darcy whistling from the front but never lifting her gaze from her phone as she texted furiously. “Thor, that's amazing! I'm really happy for you.”

“Yes, I'm quite happy as well,” said Thor and leaned over to continue tattooing. “But I want to meet your Bucky, so bring him with you to the wedding.”

Steve sighed and rolled his eyes, giving up. “Yeah, alright.”

When the tattoo was finished and wrapped up, Thor looked at the one on his chest, the first tattoo he had gotten, and said, “That one needs a touch up,” with a soft voice. Thor's soft voice was rare but not when it came to that particular subject.

Steve lowered his gaze down to it and smiled sadly, before he nodded. “Yeah.”

The touch up was quick and afterward, Thor squeezed his shoulder and Steve lightly traced the words with the tips of his fingers, heart clenching.

_You always stand up_ was cheesy when you looked at it without the back story. It was cheesy with the back story too, but Steve had been young when he had gotten it. Although, even as he grew up, he didn't regret it. Hell, he only appreciated having it inked onto his skin forever even more after the last couple of years. This last one especially.

Despite Thor insisting he didn't pay for either of them, Steve paid him what he could and then left with a promise to stay in touch more. And when he returned home, he found Bucky sitting by his front door, legs drawn up and metal hand tossing a stress ball at the wall opposite him, catching it as it bounced back.

“Hey,” Steve said and smiled when Bucky turned to him. “I should probably just get you a key, if you're gonna sit out here disturbing my neighbors,” he doubted Sam and Riley minded though, “while you're waiting for me to get home.”

A little smile tugged at Bucky's slips, and he stood up while Steve dug out his keys. His shoulder and chest were slightly sore, and he flinched as he shifted his bag to get to the keys in his pocket. He instantly noticed the frown of concern that appeared on Bucky's face, and he quickly said, “Relax, I'm just a little sore from the tattoo.”

Bucky followed him inside once the door was open. “Can I see it?” he asked, trailing after him as Steve walked into the living room area and sat down on the couch, his bag thrown carelessly on the table.

There was a slight clatter in the bag that Steve was pretty sure was his inhaler bouncing against something, but he didn't check and just quirked a brow at Bucky still standing there, hands inside his cardigan pockets. “Only if you sit down and stop hovering.”

Bucky didn't hesitate to move over and sit by his side, face brightening with excitement, and Steve smiled softly at him. It was cute, and Steve had the strongest urge to lean over and kiss him. Just a little bit, but he didn't.

Instead, he pulled off the loose plaid shirt over his tee shirt, rolled up the short sleeve, and peeled off the protection tape to reveal the stag antlers tattooed underneath. “That one,” he said, pointing at it.

Bucky leaned in and his right hand hovered over the sensitive and newly inked skin but never touched. “'s pretty,” he finally said after several, long moments of silently admiring it. With a little smile curling at his lips, he leaned against the couch and looked at Steve.

Steve tried not to let the bags under his piercing, pale eyes worry him too much. Bucky was still recovering from his setback, after all, and recovery took time.

“Why tattoos?” Bucky asked in an almost mutter, his legs drawn up under him and head rested on the back cushions, eyes firmly on Steve.

“You mean, why do I get tattoos?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. Don't wanna sound like an ass or nothin', 'cause your tattoos are awesome, but I'm just curious.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I wanna know more about you, Stevie.”

Steve ignored the heat gathering in his cheeks, tried to will the blush down, but judging by the smile on Bucky's lips, it wasn't working. “Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “There are two reasons. First, I'm an artist. Anything is a canvas to an artist. Napkins, tables, walls, the back of important mail, the blank sides of an exam sheet, you name it.”

Bucky grinned lightly, and Steve rolled his eyes, already knowing the question he wanted to ask. “Yeah, I was the student who drew on his exam sheets.”

“Rebel,” muttered Bucky and nudged him lightly with his foot. Steve smacked him in return.

“Shut up,” he said, chuckling lightly. “Anyway, my body? That's just another canvas for another artist. And I love art, so walking around with it on my body is an honor. Besides, Thor and the others at his shop are amazing, and I love every single piece on me. Whether it has a meaning to me or if it's just pretty. And despite what everyone's ever told me, I don't regret any of them and I never will.”

Bucky looked at him in silence for a moment. “And the second reason?”

Steve's face fell a little, and he took in a deep breath and lowered his gaze to where his hands were in his lap, before he spoke. “I've never liked my body,” he told him in a lowered voice. “I've always been short and skinny and, well, not really a looker or anything. Just kinda,” he shrugged, “average, at best. Looking in the mirror, all I could see was that. A bony body with a million things wrong with it.”

He paused, lifted his gaze, and offered Bucky a half smile. “Covering my body with art is a way for me to be able to look at it without hating it and not see everything that's wrong with me.”

A silence followed, but Bucky cut it short by telling him, in a lowered but firm and honest voice, “I think you're gorgeous, Stevie.”

Instantly and in a heartbeat, Steve's face turned red. He blinked at him, then scoffed and shoved at him. “Shut up, jerk.”

Bucky laughed, low and quiet, and shook his head. “I'm serious, punk. You're really fuckin' gorgeous.”

Steve looked at him, saw the way Bucky was looking at him, and his blush deepened. He didn't believe him, not for a second, but Bucky looked so earnest, he almost did. Although, it was only almost.

So he scoffed again and rolled his eyes and willed down the heat in his face, as he got up from the couch. “Whatever you say, Buck. You wanna watch a movie, order a pizza, maybe?”

Bucky stayed until night fell.

**[** … **]**

**SEPTEMBER – MONTH THREE, WEEK THREE**.

“You know, I'm starting to think you live here now,” Steve said as he leaned against the wall next to the opened window, looking through it. Bucky was sitting on the fire escape, eyes on the city falling asleep underneath the night sky.

Bucky craned his neck around just enough to look back at Steve, stress ball rolling in his metal hand. “You're the one who gave me a key, Stevie.”

Steve hummed noncommittally and wrapped his cardigan further around his body, crossing his arms. It wasn't cold, the fall weather had only just poked its head out through the summer heat, but Steve's skinny body didn't provide much heat as it was, and he easily got cold. And with his lowered immune system, that also meant he caught colds left and right – colds that could easily turn into something much worse.

“You cold?” Bucky asked, turning more toward. There was a worried crease between his brows.

Steve shook his head and sniffled slightly. “Nah, it's fine. Just a bit chilly, 's all.”

Bucky moved to get up while saying, “I can come back in and-”

“Bucky,” Steve interrupted, a bit firmer this time, and held up a hand to stop him. “It's fine. You stay out there as long as you want.”

Bucky sat back down and stayed quiet for a minute, a minute where Steve didn't move away either. Slowly, a soft smile spread across Bucky's lips and he said, “Grab a blanket and come join me. Much better with company, anyway.”

Steve took one look at Bucky in the bit of light from the streetlamps and saw the almost pleading look in his eyes, so he did exactly what Bucky had suggested. He grabbed the warmest blanket he owned, before he joined him on the fire escape, wrapping himself into a warm burrito and leaning into Bucky just slightly.

At Bucky's snort, Steve turned his head and raised a brow at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” said Bucky with a short shake of his head. “Just- It ain't even that cold. It's barely fall and you're acting like it's already winter.”

Steve huffed and nudged him. “I get easily sick when it gets cold, shut up. Ain't my fault my immune system fails me pretty much every year, as soon as the temperature drops even the slightest.”

Bucky hummed quietly, then shifted closer to him and wrapped an arm around him. Steve ducked his head down a little to hide the bottom half of his face under the blankets, heat pooling in his cheeks.

“I'm gonna knit you a damn scarf and hat,” Bucky said in a mutter, and Steve chuckled.

“I didn't know you could knit.”

“I'm a man of many talents,” Bucky said, tugging Steve closer to himself. He was silent for a moment. “I can't actually knit, but that's what the internet is for, right?”

“Or maybe I could just, you know, use the scarves and hats I've already got,” Steve suggested with a shrug.

“Nu uh,” Bucky was quick to protest. “I'm already planning out the design in my head. Gonna make 'em neon pink. Maybe make the scarf a giant rainbow to symbolize the gay in you.”

Biting back the too obvious joke that laid in that, Steve rolled his eyes and said, “I'm bi, you moron.”

“Fine,” Bucky said and rolled his eyes mockingly back at him. “Pink, purple, and blue then, but I'm sticking with the neon theme. I'm gonna make you look like the most outrages bi punk in all of Brooklyn.”

“You're gonna paint a giant target on me, is what you're gonna do,” Steve huffed at him, shifting to dig out his phone from his pocket when it vibrated.

“You do that when you open your mouth,” Bucky muttered, and Steve shot him a warning glare. “Who's texting you?”

“Natasha,” Steve answered and opened the message.

> **[10:04 PM] Natasha** : Is Bucky with you? ;)

He rolled his eyes. “What is it with her and those smileys, anyway?”

Bucky huffed next to him and leaned over to take a glance at the screen, when Steve angled it toward him. “She's a dork, Steve. She may be a super secret spy-”

“She's not a spy, Buck.”

“- but don't let that fool ya. She's a dork, trust me.”

“Oh, I believe you,” Steve told him, typing out a response.

< **[10:05 PM] Steve** : Yes, he's at my place.  
< **[10:05 PM] Steve** : Your wink is suggestive, stop it.

Her reply was immediate.

> **[10:05 PM] Natasha** : Never! We're coming over. :)

Steve didn't even have time to type out a response, before there were a few soft knocks on the front door, the knocking getting louder and louder and more rapid with each passing second. There had to be at least three fists doing the knocking.

Slowly, he turned and shared a look with Bucky, who just shrugged and rolled his eyes, silently saying what Steve was thinking.

Their friends were obnoxious.

“If we just ignore them,” Bucky said, voice lowered to a near whisper, like they were going to hear him if he spoke too loud, “you think they'll go away?”

Steve snorted and gave him a pointed look. “If we ignore them, they're gonna break down the door.”

Bucky sighed exasperatedly and leaned heavily back against the railing of the fire escape, his arm sliding off from around Steve's shoulders, and Steve immediately missed the warmth. “Yeah, you're right. Or worse, they'll start yelling at us and disturb the whole fuckin' building.”

“Or that,” Steve agreed and shifted as he stood, keeping the blanket wrapped around his body.

Getting inside through the window while wrapped in a blanket like a burrito wasn't easy, but Bucky helped him through, despite the fact that he kept telling him he could do it on his own. But after the first time Steve nearly tripped over the windowsill and Bucky gave him a pointed look, Steve just swallowed his pride and let him help.

There were still knocks coming from the front door – now in a ridiculously well orchestrated rhythm – by the time Steve untangled himself from the blanket and made it over there, Bucky sitting down on the couch where the blanket had been thrown to.

“I'm coming, assholes!” Steve called out. And when he opened the door, he glared at the obnoxious knockers. “Seriously?”

The obnoxious knockers were Clint, Sam, and Natasha. Clint was on Sam's back, both grinning widely and toothily, and Natasha stood next to them, a smirk on her lips and two pizza boxes balanced in her one hand, the other on her jutted out hip.

“What?” Natasha shrugged a shoulder and stepped around him to get inside. “Quit being sour, we brought pizza.”

“And a hell of a lotta noise, too,” Bucky said from the couch and tossed his stress ball at Clint and Sam. Clint caught it but nearly tumbled off of Sam's back in the movement, would have if Sam hadn't moved with him and tightened his grip on him.

Steve rolled his eyes at them and closed the door once the two bird idiots had gone inside, Clint tossing the ball up in the air and catching it again as it came down and Sam grumbling low at him for being “a damn fool, Clint, could've gotten yourself brained or some shit.”

“No Riley?” Steve questioned as he went into the small kitchen area to grab some plates.

“Nah, he got worn out at physio today, so he's asleep,” Sam said and threw Clint off of his back and next to Bucky on the couch. Clint yelped and let himself fall sideways into Bucky's lap, staying there even when Bucky shoved at him.

“We didn't wanna wake him up, so stop being pissy, Steve,” Sam continued, and Steve shot him a look of narrowed eyes. The looked turned into a glare, when Sam continued and said, “Sorry for interrupting your date, though.”

Steve rolled his eyes again but let it go in favor of biting back a laugh, when Bucky yanked the ball out of Clint's hands only to throw it at Sam. It bounced off of his head, and Natasha jumped to catch it on the bounce back. Sam whipped around with a “Hey!” and returned the glare that Bucky send him.

“Okay, so Riley's asleep,” Steve said, walking over to the couch and putting the plates down on the table. “You've still got your place,” he gestured to Clint making himself comfortable in Bucky's lap and Bucky letting him, “if you wanted to hang out. No one's there.”

“Wrong,” Clint said, catching the ball when it was thrown to him again, this time by Natasha. “Kate decided to invite herself over, and she brought her girlfriend and the rest of her friends, so the place's packed. Lucky loves it 'cause the little shit get a bunch of attention, but they're all so young and I'm not so,” he trailed off with a shrug.

Natasha sat down by Clint's feet on the couch and said, “So we're crashing your date-”

“Not a date,” both Steve and Bucky said simultaneously, but Natasha ignored them and continued.

“- but we did bring pizza, which is a good reason to forgive us, if you ask me,” she finished, sending them both sweet smiles that even Steve knew was fake and more threatening than sweet.

“It's past ten,” Steve pointed out, but his stomach was growling despite having eaten dinner with Bucky only a few hours ago. Well, it was pizza, after all.

“Yep, and I'm starving,” Sam announced and flipped a pizza box open, the smell of it immediately making Steve's mouth water.

So he let it happen and made himself comfortable on the chair next to the couch with the other three, Sam unbothered on the floor but with a pillow under him. Clint grabbed the television remote halfway through the first pizza box and zapped through the few channels Steve had, before he stopped on a late showing of Dog Cops.

Excitement clear on his face, Clint flew off of the couch and planted himself way too close to the screen, pulling his hearing aids out of his ears while putting the sound on mute. “So you won't disturb me and I won't disturb you,” he said.

With a free spot on the couch, Bucky beckoned Steve over, and Steve didn't hesitate to go over and sink into the couch cushion, leaning slightly into Bucky's warm, right side and ignoring Natasha and Sam exchanging a look.

It was past eleven and the pizza eating had slowed down, when Natasha brought up Halloween.

“I'm assuming everyone can make it to my party,” she said, looking between Steve and Sam pointedly.

“Say yes,” Bucky said in a theatrically lowered voice too close to Steve's good ear. “If you don't show up, she'll give you the cold shoulder for a month and it ain't pretty or nice. Trust me, it fucking sucks.”

Steve hummed quietly, not surprised, and Sam said, “Riley and I will be there. I've worked way too long on my costume to not show it off.”

The way he was looking at Steve was suspicious, and Steve squinted at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Sam shrugged, a teasing grin on his lips. “No reason. I just think you're gonna love my costume, is all.”

“Uh huh,” Steve hummed softly and kept his eyes narrowed on Sam for another moment, before he stood up and looked at Natasha. “I'll put it in my calendar. Wouldn't miss it for the world.”

Natasha smiled at him, and he walked from the living room area into his bedroom where his calendar hang. Yes, he still used a traditional paper calender on his wall. It was easier to keep track of what he had on the agenda for the month than his phone reminding him, because he had done it for years.

Old habits die hard.

Grabbing the pen from his desk, he went to flip the month from September to October, only to stop when his eyes landed on the first week of the next month. On the reminder that was written down.

His heart sank into the pit of his stomach, and his good mood vanished as he stared at it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone's curious, here's the too obvious joke (which is more of a pick up line, really) that steve almost said: "I'm bi, but you can be the gay in me." *finger guns*
> 
> Rebloggable on [tumblr](http://hoechlbutt.tumblr.com/post/154086744638).
> 
> Kudos and comments give me life. <3


	8. September, part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Bucky has a panic attack in the beginning of the chapter. If you'd rather not read it, skip to "Sam sighed, shoulders sagging".

**SEPTEMBER – MONTH THREE, WEEK FOUR**.

You know that feeling when you just know, deep in your gut, that something is wrong or something bad is about to happen? That heavy feeling weighing down your heart, making it hard to focus on anything other than the fear lurking nearby, the fear of the other shoe dropping after things have been good and calm for way too long and you're not used to it.

Like you're in a horror movie or horror game, and the music suddenly picks up and goes from being still and quiet to being low and creepy and terrifying, warning you for the worst. That terrible, gut wrenching feeling, like your subconsciousness is trying to warn you of the future.

Well, Bucky had that feeling long before his phone vibrated with a new text from Natasha.

> **[06:13 PM] Spy Kid** : Steve is in the hospital. He's fine, don't freak out.

Bucky didn't manage to read past “Steve is in the hospital,” before he started to panic. His breath came out shallow and his hand clenched tightly around the phone. Had it been his metal hand – the one currently clenched in a fist so tight that the whole arm was whirring and the plates were shifting – the phone would have been scrap by now, that was how tightly he was holding it.

Everything just became a blur around him as he read those words over and over again, his eyes fixated on it while the distant noise of the street outside disappeared completely, and all he could hear was his own heartbeat and his own shallow breathing.

Early in their friendship and getting to know each other, Steve had went down the long and seemingly endless list of health problems he had had to deal with for the entirety of his life. Bucky's heart had sunk the second Steve's listing went onto a second hand.

Ever since then and since Steve had mentioned, casually and in passing, the times death nearly took him, Bucky had feared that something would some day happen to Steve that would send him to the hospital and never let him leave, and now that fear was becoming a reality.

Natasha hadn't said why Steve was in the hospital – she might have, actually, but Bucky couldn't look at the text or the one she send a minute after, because he couldn't breathe.

Everything from _Steve's dying_ to _Steve's already dead_ flickered in his head, and he crumbled.

Crumbled straight to his knees in the middle of the hall in his apartment and his metal fist launched out in anger and sorrow and heartbreak, punching a hole in the wall that he couldn't be bothered to care about at the moment.

Lucky came bounding over to him in an instant, touching his wet snout to his cheek and whining at him, but Bucky couldn't focus. His mind was providing too many possibilities of what might have happened and it was too loud despite the quiet apartment – Clint wasn't there.

He didn't know how long he had been sitting there, shaking and panicking, but when he came to, Lucky was still by his side and there were rushing footsteps coming toward him and a familiar voice calling his name.

“Bucky,” Sam repeated firmly, and Bucky slowly and shakily lifted his head to look at him. “Hey, man. You okay?”

“Steve,” Bucky started, his voice coming out croaked and strained, but he cut himself off because he couldn't continue. He couldn't say it. Lucky pushed his snout against Bucky'st cheek, and Bucky raised a shaking hand to put it on his head.

Sam sighed, shoulders sagging with seemingly relief, and he nodded. “Yeah, I know. His nurse called me. Clint and Natasha are with him, and he's okay, Bucky.”

Bucky shook his head and bit out a harsh, “No,” because how the fuck could Steve be okay? He was in the hospital, for fuck's sake. When was the last time someone at the damn _hospital_ was okay? Never, that's when.

“You're right, he's not okay,” Sam said after a moment, and Bucky noticed the almost annoyance in Sam's eyes, the annoyance mixed with sadness. “But he's not dying. Idiot got into a fight and got his dumb ass knocked out.”

A heavy breath left Bucky, and he sagged against the wall, head bowing and hand bringing Lucky closer. “Fucking punk,” he muttered quietly to himself.

“That's Steve for you,” Sam said with a disapproving shake of his head. “Not the first time either. I'm on my way to the hospital to give him a lecture. Wanna come with me?”

Bucky did and he told Sam so, but it still took him a couple of minutes of petting Lucky, before he could actually move again. The whole twenty or so minutes it took to get to the hospital were nerve wracking, and Bucky couldn't sit still or stop looking at his phone for any updates from either Natasha or Clint for the entirety of the subway ride.

Neither of them had send anything other than Steve's room number.

Bucky hated hospitals. He hated them before he joined the army, hated them even more after he had spend months in one after his arm got blown off. He hated the smell of them, and he hated the amount of smiling doctors and nurses, all the smiles annoyingly forced. He hated the long hallways and the sounds of beeping machines monitoring patients' vitals.

He hated hospitals but what he hated more was the stupid family only rule.

The nurse that stepped in front of him as he stormed down the hallway, Sam walking fast behind him, was much shorter than him but she walked like she was bigger and stronger, a hard look on her face. “Can I help you?” she asked, sounding guarded and looking prepared to fight.

Bucky's eyes dropped to the badge attached to her scrubs; Temple. It sounded familiar, but he couldn't place where he had heard it before, nor did he ask. “Let me through,” he demanded instead, voice tighter than he meant for it to be.

“Alright,” Sam cut in before Temple could do much else than clench her jaw and send him a warning look. Sam put a hand on Bucky's arm to hold him back and stepped in front of him. “Stand down, Bucky, you look like you're about to go on a rampage.”

Bucky huffed at him, annoyed and anxious, and Sam turned to Temple. “Hi, I'm Sam Wilson. I'm here for Steve Rogers?”

Temple looked from Bucky to Sam, then back to Bucky. “And your guard dog here?”

Bucky's face remained stoic and hard. Sam said, “James Barnes. He'll calm down the second he sees Steve, trust me.”

Temple didn't seem convinced, and she kept her eyes trained on Bucky for longer than Bucky was comfortable with, but he just looked right back and ignored Sam's eye roll. Eventually though, Temple told them to follow her and she showed them to where Steve's room was.

Clint was sprawled out on the chair in the corner, nose bloody and bound and hand in bandages, and Natasha stood by the foot of the hospital bed with her arms crossed, but Bucky didn't look at them for even a second, because his eyes went to Steve instantly.

Steve was leaning back against the hospital bed, pillows propped up against his back, and he looked terrible. His eyes (one black, the other out of view) were locked with Natasha's. They looked like they were in a deep staring – glaring, neither of them looked anything less than pissed – contest, but Bucky was more focused on the bruise on Steve's cheekbone and the split in his pink lips and the way his right hand was bound in bandages than whatever was going on between those two.

“Steve,” Bucky breathed with relief the moment Steve turned to look at him, and, ignoring the shocked and almost pissed off look on Steve's face, Bucky stormed into the room and threw himself at him, wrapping his arms tightly around him – but carefully, especially with his prosthetic arm.

Steve's heart was beating steadily in his chest, was the first thing Bucky checked as he pressed his ear to it. Well, as steadily as Steve Rogers' heart could beat, but it was enough to calm him down. He released a huge breath and sagged against him.

For only a moment, before he pulled back, grabbed Steve's shoulders, and glared at him.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” he damn near yelled, angry but most of all scared. “You can't just go picking fights left and right you dumbass! You could'a gotten yourself killed!”

Steve rolled his eyes and scoffed, shoving at Bucky so he let go of him. “I had him on the ropes.”

Clint scoffed from the chair, and Natasha quirked a brow and said, “You absolutely did not have him on the ropes, Steve. He was twice your size and knocked you out with one punch.”

Bucky opened his mouth – maybe to yell, maybe to tell Steve was he was a goddamn idiot – but Sam beat him to it.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Rogers?”

He turned around and saw Sam standing by the door, Temple behind him and watching them all carefully, almost like a protective family member. Sam's arms were crossed and his eyes were on Steve, disbelief and anger and something else on his face.

“Don't start, Sam,” Steve said, and to Bucky, he sounded angry and upset and... well, sad.

“Oh, I will damn well start when you go picking fights with random guys for no goddamn reason,” Sam said and stepped closer.

“He said-”

“I don't care what he said!” Sam's voice was raised, and Bucky blinked in surprise. He hadn't seen him this frustrated or angry before. “You're in the hospital, Steve. And not because you had a bad asthma attack or got pneumonia or because of any of your meds stopped working, but because you were reckless and nearly got yourself killed.”

Bucky turned in time to see Steve rolling his eyes. “I'm fine,” he said, jaw clenched.

“No, you are not fine,” Sam argued and stepped over to the side of the bed. “You're spiraling again, just like you did last year after-”

“Could you just for once in your life let something go?” Steve interrupted loudly, and the room fell quiet.

Now, Bucky was very well aware that Steve had quite the temper and was easy to rile up – he had done so himself a few times and had gotten a surprisingly strong punch to the arm or a stare so cold he nearly got pneumonia from it. It was fun to get him riled up, because it was so _easy_. Everyone in the room with him would agree, especially Sam.

But Bucky had never heard Steve talk like this before. His voice was raised and upset, but there was so much authority in it and his words were so demanding, that Bucky almost thought he was back in the army and being yelled at by his captain for a second.

Bucky stared at Steve for the minute of prolonged silence that fell in the room, the only sound disrupting the silence was the distant footsteps up and down the hallway and the beeping machines from the other rooms. Steve looked angry and pissed off from a distance, but Bucky saw the shimmer of tears in his blue eyes.

“I'm fine,” Steve continued, voice lowered slightly but still firm and steady, although there was a slight wavering in the latter word that Bucky only just caught.

When Sam scoffed, Bucky turned to look at him and saw the clear hurt in his eyes while Sam shook his head a few times. “Right. Of course you are. That's why you're in the hospital with a black eye, a bruised cheekbone, and what the hell else you've gotten from being _beaten up_ and _knocked out_ , just because it's almost October. But sure, yeah. You're fine.”

Confused, Bucky looked back at Steve but Steve was looking down at his hands in his lap, shoulders tense and jaw clenched, so he looked at Natasha and shared a confused look with her. He wanted to ask why it being almost October had anything to do with this, but the words died in his throat. Steve was upset, and he didn't want to make it worse by poking at the obviously sore subject.

The tense silence was broken by Steve speaking up in an almost broken voice. “I'm sorry, Sam,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Sam said before Steve could continue, and he stepped past Bucky to stand by Steve, offering him a little smile, just a twitch of his lips. “You don't have to say it, I get it. Make it up to me by actually calling me next time you get too bad again, so Claire won't have to do it from the damn hospital.”

Sam barely got the last word out, before Steve had his arms wrapped around him and pulled him in for a tight hug, and Sam returned it immediately. Bucky couldn't see Steve's face – it was buried in Sam's shoulder – but he could hear the small sniffles and see the slight shake of Steve's shoulders, and his heart clenched at the sight.

He didn't move, though, and he stayed quiet.

Clint, however, didn't.

“Hey Claire,” he said, grunting as he sat up properly in the chair he was sprawled out on, and wincing slightly. “Can I get some painkillers, please?”

Temple – Claire, apparently – took a moment almost too long to look away from Sam and Steve, before she looked over at Clint and nodded. “Sure,” she said and lingered in the doorway for another long moment, before she walked out.

Claire was very protective of Steve, it would seem. Bucky didn't know why exactly, but he could guess it was because Steve had spend way too much time in the hospital and had made friends with the nurse staff. Of course.

Slowly, he turned to Clint and gave him a curious look. “The hell happened to you?”

Natasha scoffed and answered before Clint could get a word out. “He got punched in the face, because he's an idiot who thought he could take on the guy after Steve got knocked out. Sprained his wrist, too.”

Bucky sighed and shook his head at Clint. “Seriously?” He groaned and turned to look at Steve, just as Sam leaned back and they shared a small smile. “You know what? If you two,” he pointed between Steve and Clint, “are gonna go out picking fights, you really need to learn how to fight properly, 'cause this ain't gonna fuckin' work.”

Steve rolled his eyes, while Clint muttered, “Or we could just keep Natasha as our bodyguard.”

Both Bucky and Natasha – and Bucky suspected Sam as well – turned and gave Clint an unamused look, and Clint sunk into the chair and averted their gaze.

Claire returned with a plastic cup of water and painkillers for Clint, and Steve turned to her and asked, “Claire, when can I go home?”

He sounded tired, and Bucky wanted to wrap him up in a hug. He didn't, but he did move over to the other side of the bed and hesitantly reached out for Steve's hand. Steve tensed for a moment, glancing his way, and he smiled shortly at him as he squeezed his hand, before he turned his attention back to Clarie.

“Tomorrow morning,” Claire answered and took the cup back from Clint after he swallowed the pill.

Steve groaned. “Oh come on. I'm fine, just a little bruised.”

“You were unconscious for thirty seconds, Steve,” Claire said, turning to him and giving him a stern look that reminded Bucky of his sister. “You know the drill.”

Sighing heavily, Steve shook his head and leaned back on the hospital bed. He said nothing, didn't protest, and Bucky's eyes snapped to Claire in an instant. “Can I stay with him?”

“Bucky, I don't need a fucking babysitter,” Steve mumbled annoyed, moving to slip his hand out of Bucky's. But Bucky kept his grip tight around his hand and didn't take his eyes off of Claire.

Claire looked between the two, her eyes lingering on their joined hands for a second longer, before she looked at Bucky and said, “I can't let you stay unless you're his next of kin, boyfriend, or emergency contact.”

Bucky opened his mouth to argue, but Sam beat him to it. “What if his emergency contact says he can stay?”

“Look,” Claire started, looking from Bucky to Sam. “For all I care, all four of you can stay. Four sets of eyes on that one,” she pointed at Steve who rolled his eyes exasperatedly, “is better than just my one set. But, it's up to Steve to decide who he wants to stay.”

Bucky turned to look at Steve, hoping his eyes were pleading but knowing they probably weren't. He watched as Steve looked between all of them before sighing heavily and nearly groaning at them.

“I don't want anyone to stay,” he finally said, lifting his uninjured hand to run it through his hair and pushing his bangs out of the way. “I'm tired, I just want to sleep, so leave me alone.” He harrumphed and muttered out a quiet, “Jesus,” before averting his eyes.

“Well,” Claire said, eyeing Bucky momentarily. “Guess that means you're staying.”

Clint and Natasha were the first to leave. Clint was whining about his nose and wrist, so Natasha dragged him out after giving Steve a quick squeeze and muttering something to him that Bucky didn't hear. With the two of them gone, Bucky sat down on the chair Clint had occupied earlier and made himself comfortable, prepared to spend the night there.

Sam left just as complete darkness fell outside. “Gotta get home to Riley,” he said as he hugged Steve, and when he leaned back, he told him, “You let me know if you need anything, anything at all, got it?” to which Steve nodded and promised he would.

Bucky suspected Steve was lying, had a feeling he was used to suffering alone just like Bucky was, but he said nothing.

Not until the door closed behind Sam, and it was just the two of them alone in the room.

“You know you don't gotta do whatever it is by yourself, right?” Bucky asked after a moment, eyes never leaving Steve.

Steve slowly lifted his gaze to him, but he sighed and looked away again as he spoke. “Can we not do this, Buck? I just want to sleep.”

Bucky considered him for a moment, but he nodded because Steve did look completely exhausted, heavy bags settling under his eyes and thin body sagging. He looked terrible and sad, and Bucky hated that. He hated all of this, but he let him settle down and sleep anyway, silently promising to keep watch.

Bucky barely closed an eye through the whole night. Claire came into the room after a while to get Steve to take his pills – there were a lot, too many for a guy this young – and she came back every hour on the dot to check on Steve, asked the same questions to make sure he didn't have a concussion, and then left again.

Somewhere around two am, she brought a blanket for Bucky with her. He thanked her quietly, and she went and woke up Steve, getting a grumpy and annoyed response this time.

Bucky managed to sleep sometime around three or four, but he woke up the moment the sun rose and the hospital came more alive, and Claire came back for the last time before her shift ended.

“Can you tell me your name?” she asked as soon as Steve's eyes opened in a squint. Bucky ran his flesh-and-bone hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes.

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Steve answered groggily, sounding more than a little grumpy. “I'm at Brooklyn Hospital, it's September 28, I'm 27 years old, my mom's name's Sarah, and it's way too fucking early. Can I go the fuck back to sleep now?”

It wasn't the first time Steve had answered it like that, and this time, Bucky knew that the tightness in his voice when he said his mom's name wasn't a coincidence. Because it kept happening. Steve never talked about his family and at this point, Bucky doubted he even had one. No one had come to visit him, and Sam was his emergency contact, after all.

Bucky wanted to ask but he hadn't and wasn't going to. Not yet, at least.

“Sure thing,” Claire said, an amused smile on her lips as she let go of Steve's wrist. “Linda is the morning nurse, she'll get you discharged after breakfast in a few hours.”

“Great,” Steve muttered tiredly and rolled over onto his other side, eyes already closed again. “Now fuck off.”

Claire quirked a brow at the back of Steve's head, but she didn't look offended, probably used to Steve's lack of bedside manners if she had been his nurse for as long as Bucky suspected. Her face fell slightly as she stepped over and pulled the thin blanket over Steve's sleeping body and gently ran a hand through his blond hair.

Bucky didn't mean to stare but he did, eyes still on the two of them when Claire turned and met his eyes.

“You take care of him,” she said in a lowered voice. It wasn't a question or a request, it was an order, and Bucky didn't hesitate to nod in a silent promise to do so.

The new nurse, Linda, came in to check on Steve only once before breakfast was served. Steve was in a sour mood when Bucky shook him awake to get him to eat something, grumbling something along the lines of, “Ain't ten yet, jerk.”

Bucky bit back a smile and sat on the edge of Steve's bed, silently waiting for him to wake up properly.

His phone vibrated with a text from Sam, just after Steve managed to sit up and lean against him, still half asleep but slowly waking up.

> **[08:02 AM] Bird Fucker 2.0** : you good to take the idiot home by yourself?

“Did you eat my breakfast?” Steve mumbled into his shoulder, and Bucky turned to look at him. His eyes were open, at least.

“Nope,” Bucky answered easily and quickly replied to Sam with a _yeah_.

“Then why the fuck is my juice gone?” Steve asked and lifted his head to give Bucky an accusing look, his eyes narrowed.

Bucky returned the look with a deadpan one. “You don't eat juice, Stevie.”

Steve scoffed and weakly punched his shoulder, before he started eating his breakfast. He offered Bucky a bit of it, but Bucky just shook his head and told him he'd already eaten. It wasn't a lie. Linda had brought him some breakfast too, so he actually did eat something. Just not all of it, because his appetite was gone.

“You didn't have to stay with me the whole night,” Steve told him sometime later.

Linda had just been there with Steve's discharge papers, and Steve was more than eager to leave that very second, already pulling on his jacket and putting on his shoes before Bucky had even stood up from the chair in the corner to do the same.

Bucky looked at him from across the room and took the few, long steps it took for him to stand next to him. He slung his arm around his shoulders and pulled him into his side. “I wanted to, you punk.”

Steve huffed in mock annoyance and leaned his head against Bucky's chest, and Bucky smiled down at him. “C'mon, let's get you home.”

The ride home to Brooklyn Heights was spend in silence. The subway cart they were in was unsurprisingly full, considering the time of day, and it jostled slightly every now and then. It didn't seem to bother Steve even the slightest, because Steve was already back asleep with his head resting on Bucky's shoulder – the metal one, but that didn't seem to bother him either.

Despite having spend pretty much the whole night awake and worried, Bucky didn't feel as tired as he probably should. He felt wired and on high alert still, all his attention on Steve. It was going to come kick him in the ass when he finally did relax, but he could deal with that when that time came.

Steve was already pulling off his jacket and over-shirt by the time they made it to his apartment, and he wasted no time before he threw himself on the couch the moment he was inside.

“I'm gonna sleep for five days straight,” he announced, the last few words swallowed by a loud yawn.

Bucky took the shoes Steve had kicked off and carelessly thrown across the floor and put them away, doing the same with the jacket and over-shirt and bag. “Take a nap,” he said, turning to Steve already laying down on the couch and wiggling to make himself comfortable. “I'm gonna go get us some proper breakfast.”

Steve hummed quietly and for a moment, Bucky thought he was already asleep again, but then he mumbled, “You don't gotta stay 'nymore, Buck. I'm fine on my own.”

Bucky looked at him in silence, before he huffed. “Yeah right, tough guy.” With a shake of his head, he headed for the door, and called out over his shoulder, “Don't do anything stupid until I get back!”

He opened the door and turned, when Steve spoke up.

“How can I?” His eyes were open and on Bucky, a slight grin on his lips. “You're taking all the stupid with you.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and flipped him off, before he left with a small chuckle. The door closed, and he didn't see how quickly Steve's smile disappeared, nor was he there to see when Steve finally broke.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> Rebloggable on [tumblr](http://hoechlbutt.tumblr.com/post/154086744638).
> 
> Kudos and comments give me life. <3


	9. October, part one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter deals with Steve's mourning of his mom and his depression. His suicidal thoughts are mentioned a few times, too. If you'd rather not read any of that, skip this chapter.

**OCTOBER – MONTH FOUR, WEEK ONE**.

A year ago, the sky had ripped open and rain had poured down onto the dark streets of Brooklyn for hours and hours. Steve had watched it start from within the walls of the hospital, staring blankly through the closed window in an empty room.

His eyes had been unfocused on a tree drowning in the rain outside, silently staring as the leaves – yellow and orange and dead – fell to the wet ground and stayed there, leaving the tree naked and cold. It was a nice metaphor for how he had felt, now that he thought back on it. Like he was falling apart and drowning and possibly even dying.

Well, that was certainly what he had wanted to, at least. To die, that was.

A year ago, Steve had sat and stared blankly out of a hospital window after his mom passed away, and now, in the present, he saw leaning against his apartment window and did the same.

Only differences were that it wasn't raining and the tree his eyes were unfocused on only just started losing its leaves, the wind taking them one by one and sending them flying down the street or helping them gently flutter to the ground where the tree's trunk disappeared into. And instead of the distant sound of a living hospital, there was the soft sound of music playing in his apartment.

The music came from the old, old vinyl player carefully put on his drawing desk. It used to be his mom's and usually, he kept it stored away but not that day. That day, he had pulled it out and put on his mom's favorite record and played it as he sat there and absently watched as the leaves crumbled from a tree's branches.

The sky was falling dark, when Steve finally pulled himself out of his daze. He blinked back the few tears threatening to spill, before he looked down at the phone in his hand. It had been quiet all day – Bucky hadn't visited, because he had a check up with Tony. Sam had called him in the morning but Steve had ignored it. Thor had send a text sometime around noon, Steve hadn't replied. Natasha had send several (as had Clint, but those were the usual dog and bird videos) but Steve hadn't read them.

He sniffled softly as he unlocked his phone and went through his contacts, until he found Peggy. It would be around noon in London at this time, she wouldn't be busy and she definitely wouldn't be busy for him, he knew that.

And yet he still hesitated before he hit the call button and pulled the phone to his good ear.

“Hello, Rogers,” Peggy greeted him on the fourth ring, sounding cheerful. There was the sound of chatter in the background, but it sounded like it came from a television, and the distant sound of a familiar singing. She was home, Angie somewhere further in their shared house.

“Hey, Carter,” Steve greeted back and silently cursed his own voice for breaking. Not that he would have been able to hide anything from Peggy regardless of how much he tried to. She knew him almost scarily well, and would be able to tell something was wrong even over the phone and from miles away.

There was a pause on Peggy's end, a pause where the sound of the television was muted and Angie's singing stopped abruptly. Steve pressed his free hand to his eyes and rubbed at them, willing himself to not break. He had done enough of that for the day. Hell, for the year, even.

“It's today, isn't it?” Peggy asked after another moment, her voice soft and lowered.

Steve sniffled quietly and let out a shaky, “Yeah.”

Peggy was quiet for a second, and Steve wanted to do nothing but lean into her embrace and just stay there until things were okay again. Or until the day was over and he could stop focusing on the fact that he had gone a whole year without his mom being alive anymore. A whole year and fuck, how he missed her.

“Do you need me to call Sam?” Peggy asked, and Steve shook his head although she couldn't see.

“No,” he said, pausing to swallow thickly. “No, I just... I just kinda wanna be alone right now.” The corner of his lips twitched back in a half smile, a sad smile, and his brows pinched together as his eyes closed and his head rested against the cool window. “Wanted to hear you voice, though,” he told her in a lowered mutter.

“Okay,” Peggy whispered back. Steve could hear the small smile in her voice, and his heart ached with how much he missed her too.

Except with Peggy, he could actually see her again – would see her again when she and Angie came to visit in December like they had been planning since the two of them flew back to London after visiting for Steve's birthday back in July.

With Peggy, he could and would see her again. With his mom, it was impossible, and he willed back the tears filling his closed eyes.

“What do you want me to talk about?” Peggy continued a second after.

Steve was silent for only a moment, before he asked, “How's Angie?” and Peggy started talking and didn't push the previous subject any further. She knew not to, after all – knew when to talk about anything else to distract him.

Which was exactly what he needed at the moment; to be distracted and not think about how much he was hurting and how tired he was. Tired of fighting, tired of everything.

He forced himself to focus on the words Peggy was saying, even though he didn't really fully process whatever she was saying. He just made sure to hum in all the right places. It was soothing to have her voice in his ear, to hear her talk about Angie's most recent play and to hear her complain about all the “bellends in the government,” as she put it, and about everything, even though he had heard it a million times before.

But focusing on what she was saying exactly was hard suddenly, and his focus was back out the window almost immediately, gaze landing on the tree further down the street. His eyes followed a leaf to the ground, while Peggy talked about... something.

Steve hadn't even realized the vinyl player had stopped playing music and was now making the scratchy noise it always did when the record was done. Not until Peggy pointed it out, at least, and he got up and turned it off.

He returned to his spot on the windowsill right after, legs drawn up to his chest, and let Peggy continue talking.

“- and we are both so excited to see you again in December,” was what brought Steve back to focusing on his friend rather than the leaves gathering in a small pile on the ground outside.

“Mm,” he hummed in response and rested his forehead against the cool glass of the window. “Yeah, me too.”

For the first time in what could have been an hour, Peggy fell quiet. She wasn't quiet for long though and when she spoke again, she sounded regretful. “Listen, Steve, I have to go. Angie and I have a work lunch to get to, if you can believe it. But, I don't feel comfortable leaving you on your own today, so I can call Thor or Sam and have-”

“Peggy,” Steve interrupted, finding his voice again. Surprisingly, it didn't break even though he himself felt close to it. “I'll be fine. Go to your work thing.”

“Alright,” Peggy said after a hesitating moment. “I'll see you in December.”

“Yeah,” Steve promised. He knew why she kept bringing that up. It was something for him to look forward to, Peggy was smart and tactic like that. He appreciated it, but it was hard to be excited for anything these days. Hard to get out of bed, even.

On the upside, he hadn't missed any of his medications yet, and he was ahead of his deadlines, so he didn't need to stress about not drawing for at least another few days.

Peggy hang up after reminding him that she loved him, and Steve was left sitting in his empty apartment, staring out at the city.

He spaced out. For how long, he didn't know, but when he came to again, the sky was dark and there was a knock on his front door, the only warning he got before it swung open and Bucky strolled inside, a bag of what smelled like takeout food in his right hand.

“Hey, Stevie,” he started as he walked in, the door closing behind him, and Steve quickly sat up and wiped at his wet eyes. “I made a pit stop at the Maximoffs' after Tony finished tinkering with my damn arm. Figured you'd want some-”

Bucky stopped. Both with talking and with walking, and Steve kept his eyes lowered and hated how vulnerable he felt. Just because Bucky caught him in the middle of a break down. Bucky, the same Bucky who had broken down in front of him a bit over a month ago and had let him see him at his lowest.

And yet he couldn't do the same.

“Hey,” Bucky said after a beat, his voice softer now, and Steve heard the bag be put down somewhere and the careful footsteps coming toward him. “Hey, what's wrong?”

Steve sniffled and shook his head, quickly wiping at his damp cheeks with his sleeve. “Nothing,” he croaked after swallowing past the lump in his throat. “I'm fine.”

It was a weak lie, but one he had to tell. If he said it enough, maybe it'd come true.

Steve didn't look up from his socked feet, but he was aware of Bucky walking over and sitting down on the free space on the windowsill, thigh coming into view and flesh-and-bone hand settling close to him but didn't touch.

“You're a terrible liar,” Bucky told him, his voice still soft, and Steve scoffed halfheartedly. “You don't gotta lie or pretend you're fine with me, Stevie. C'mon, it's _me_. We're best pals, you and I. You can tell me anything.”

Steve sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping, and after swallowing again and forcing a smile on his lips, he lifted his head to meet Bucky's worried gaze. “I'm just tired,” he said, which at least wasn't a lie.

Bucky didn't look convinced, but he nodded and moved to stand up anyway. “Okay, then come on. Let's get you in bed.”

“Not that kind of tired,” Steve muttered quietly. The second those words left his mouth, he regretted them. Because the second they were out, he wanted to break down again and Bucky's face fell into more worry and concern than before.

“Steve,” Bucky said softly, sitting back down, and Steve hung his head as he shook it and stood up.

“It's okay,” he said and forced a smile when he glanced in Bucky's direction. “I can get by on my own.”

He had done it for years, after all. Ever since his mom got sick, and he had to be the one taking care of her instead of the other way around. And when she passed, he had no choice but to get by on his own. Sure, he had Sam and Thor, and Peggy had offered to house him in London if Brooklyn got too hard to be in, but he had refused that help.

Because he didn't want to be a burden, and he could get by on his own. He could.

“Thing is, Stevie,” said Bucky, and Steve lifted his gaze to see him step in front of him. “You don't have to.” Bucky moved forward and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him in for a tight and secure hug, and he continued in a whisper into his good ear, “'Cause I'm with you 'til the end of the line.”

Steve wanted to insist that he was fine on his own, that he could get through this himself, that he could keep fighting even though he was tired of it. He wanted to push Bucky away and hide in his room until his head was clear again, and he wanted to be alone.

But he didn't. He didn't do any of that.

Instead, his eyes welled up and he clung onto Bucky as his body shook in silent sobs. He buried his face in Bucky's chest and let the tears roll down his reddening cheeks, his fists clutched in Bucky's shirt. Bucky's arms were tight around him, left hand on his back and right hand on the back of his head petting him gently, while he shushed him and whispered that it was going to be okay.

Steve cried and cried until the tears wouldn't come anymore, and he was left to sniffle softly against the wet spot on Bucky's shirt, wet from his tears. He didn't want to let go, kept his grip tight on Bucky and stayed leaned into him.

If he could just bury himself there and never leave or face the outside world ever again, that would be great.

He did let go though, when Bucky moved them over to the couch to sit. It wasn't long, before Bucky pulled him in again, and Steve rested his head on his shoulder, sniffling softly and closing his eyes as Bucky's hand moved through his hair gently.

He didn't realize how touch starved he was until Bucky became clingy. And apparently Bucky was as touch starved as he was. He didn't mind it.

“Talk to me, Steve,” Bucky whispered after a while of silence, when Steve finally started breathing normally again. Not his asthma's fault, as he had reassured Bucky when he had asked. “Please.”

Steve took in a deep breath and let it back out slowly, letting himself lean fully onto Bucky. “My mom died,” he told him in a small voice. “A year ago, today.”

Bucky was silent for a moment, before he said, “I'm sorry.”

“She was all I had,” Steve continued, feeling his eyes fill with tears again and his throat closing up, but he kept talking. “Until I went to college and met Peggy and the others, she was all I had. Without her, I have no family. I'm just me, and I miss her so much.” A broken sob escaped him, and he sniffled. “I don't know how to keep fighting without her, Buck. I don't know if I can-”

“Hey,” Bucky interrupted, and Steve wiped at his eyes. “What's that thing you've got inked on your chest?”

Steve paused, his eyes falling down to his covered chest. “ _You always stand up_ ,” he quoted in a tight voice. “She used to tell me that.”

“Exactly,” Bucky continued, wrapping his arms around Steve and pulling him closer. “Steve, you're the strongest person I've ever met. And I know Natasha, so that says a lot.” Steve huffed lightly and leaned against him. “Your mom taught you to be strong, and she did a hell of a job. But you're not alone anymore. You don't gotta fight by yourself, 'cause you've got me.”

“Thought you were done fighting,” Steve mumbled into Bucky's shoulder.

“For you, Steve, I'd jump right back into the battlefield without thinking twice,” Bucky told him honestly, and Steve hid his heated face in his shoulder. “Your mom will always be with you 'cause of the things she taught you and the memories you have of her. It's okay to miss her and grieve her, but don't give up.”

Bucky leaned closer to him and pressed his lips against the crown of his head and whispered, “You always stand up, Stevie, but you don't gotta do it by yourself.”

If they weren't so close friends, Steve would lean up and kiss him. It felt like the right moment, and the urge was strong, but...

But, they were friends. _Best_ friends. Nothing more than that, and while Steve was attracted to Bucky and possibly even had feelings for him that were definitely not platonic, Bucky didn't feel the same way, and Steve didn't want to compromise their friendship just because he couldn't control his heart.

So he didn't lean up and press his lips to Bucky's pink ones. Instead, he wrapped his arms around him and buried his face in his neck, letting out a heavy breath as Bucky's arms snaked around his middle, hugging him tightly back.

“Tell me about your mom,” Bucky said after a while, the sentence coming out as a question in his soft and lowered voice.

And Steve did. He told him everything wonderful about Sarah Rogers – not that there was anything that wasn't wonderful about her. Bucky listened intently and genuinely interested as he talked, and he kept talking until his stomach growled. They sat and ate the now cold food from the Maximoff diner, while Steve told Bucky about the memories he had of his mom.

Every time Steve started breaking again, Bucky wrapped his arms around him and held him close.

Bucky stayed at Steve's place for a full day, and he only left to go with Steve to the cemetery, where Steve introduced him to his mom.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rebloggable on [tumblr](http://hoechlbutt.tumblr.com/post/154086744638).
> 
> Kudos and comments give me life. <3


	10. October, part two

**OCTOBER – MONTH FOUR, WEEK FOUR**.

As a kid, Bucky loved Halloween. He got to dress up as his favorite superhero or whatever scary monster his sister was deadly afraid of at the time, because he was and always would be an asshole. He got to go around, knock on people's doors, and get free candy. What was there to not like?

Granted, he never got to eat all the candy he collected. Not after the incident of '94, where he had ended up with a horrible stomachache after having eaten everything in one night.

When he reached his teenage years, the trick or treating lessened and the costumes got lazier and lazier as the years went on. After a few lazy Halloweens, it all just stopped and he ended up in a horror movie marathon with his group of friends in high school, which only ended once the sun rose and they could barely keep their eyes open.

When he reached college and befriended Natasha, he got roped into her mandatory and annual Halloween party. Natasha's Halloween parties were wild for the duration of their college time – lots of drinking and lots of bare skin, lots of guys with their shirts off, which Bucky very much appreciated even when he was still questioning his sexuality – and then they toned down more and more as the years went by.

Now, her Halloween party was more of a Halloween gathering for her closest friends, a minimal amount of booze, no loud music, the occasional horror movie if people were up for it, but nothing wild.

Costumes, however, were mandatory. She wouldn't let you inside unless you were in a proper costume. Bucky learned she was serious about that the hard way the year before where he was left to sit on her front porch for the majority of the night, until Clint had taken pity on him and taken him to the nearest store to find _anything_.

He decided to never make the same mistake again, because Natasha Romanoff was ruthless.

“Aaaand, you're done!” Clint announced with a wide and toothy grin as he leaned back to admire the work he had done.

Bucky looked down at his left side and grinned in delight at the sight he was met with. He wasn't wearing his Stark prosthetic – it was currently resting on his bedside table, metal hand curled into a fist with the middle finger raised, because Clint thought he was funny – and the metal sleeve on his stump was covered in fake blood, while the left sleeve of his shirt was torn to bits, the rest of his shirt torn and filled with random chunks of fake blood as well.

Because he had decided to be unoriginal and go as a zombie this year. He was already missing a limb and Clint had plenty of fake blood and make up from his circus days, so it seemed appropriate.

Clint, on the other hand, was dressed in a tight fitting Green Arrow suit, his bow – his real one, because he was determined to make it look real – hang over his shoulder and his quiver was full of arrows. Suction cup arrows, because he wasn't _that_ dedicated to realness.

Plus, suction cup arrows gave him permission from Natasha to shoot an arrow every once in a while.

So far, there were five suction cup arrows stuck on three different walls in Natasha's house, and Liho, Natasha's cat, had batted at each of them after they were shot.

“Nice,” Bucky commented, patting Clint on the shoulder, before he darted to the kitchen where Natasha was making lemonade – red like blood and poured into vases with spiderwebs and spiders all over the glass. “Tasha, be honest. How scary do I look?”

Natasha was dressed as Catwoman, despite Clint trying to convince her to do a couple's costume for months. Well, actually, he had been trying for a couple of years now, even before they started officially dating, but still with no luck. Natasha didn't do couple's costumes, not as far as Bucky knew. If the day she did ever did arrive, that would be the day Bucky would know she was going to stay with Clint forever.

Natasha lifted her head and looked over at him, her eyes scanning over him and taking him in as she considered. “Scary enough. If we were in an apocalypse, I'd shoot you in the head.”

Bucky grinned widely and shot a quick thumbs up to Clint as he came bounding into the kitchen, Lucky trotting after him with his Superdog cape flapping on his back. Liho jumped up on the counter by Natasha, when Lucky ran over to her.

Bucky made an obnoxious gagging sound, when Clint leaned over and planted a soft kiss on Natasha's lips. Both of them flipped him off, ignored him, and shared several more kissed because they were assholes.

The first people to arrive were Natasha's colleagues and close friends; Maria Hill dressed as Wonder Woman, Sharon Carter as a cop (“That's cheating, you're already a cop,” Clint pointed out, and Sharon corrected him and said, “Detective, actually. Not the same.”) and Bobbi Morse as Harley Quinn with her blonde hair dip dyed and everything.

The next to arrive was Steve, and Bucky was in the kitchen petting Liho when Clint opened the door. He completely ignored the girls talking and Liho batting at his hand, however, when he heard Lucky bark excitedly, followed by Clint laughing brightly and saying, “This is so stupid and perfect, holy crap! Nat, where's my phone? I need to immortalize this!”

His voice got louder and louder with each word, until it was clear as he stormed into the kitchen to grab his phone from Natasha's hand, lips pulled back into a grin so wide, crowfeet appeared by his eyes.

“You guys, this is too good,” he said, fiddling around with his phone as he turned around and walked straight back out.

Bucky shared a quick and curious look with Natasha, before he left Liho and followed Clint out the kitchen and toward the front of the house. Lucky was jumping around Steve, barking and wagging his tail excitedly.

Lucky, with his Superdog cape.

And Steve, wearing a full Superman outfit.

“Oh my God,” Bucky laughed, avoiding the thoughts of how good Steve looked – even with the costume clinging to his thin body and the cape looking clumsy on his shoulders, it was a good look on him. Bucky very pointedly did not look anywhere near his crotch. “Did you coordinate this? Is this a couple's costume? Geez, Stevie, what a way to reveal your forbidden love.”

Steve gave him a flat look. “Right, because I'm so into bestiality.” Bucky snorted, and Steve rolled his eyes, pausing to pose for the pictures Clint was already taking. “No, I was actually planning on stealing your dog. Superdog should be with Superman, after all. Not Green Arrow and some walking dead person.”

“I'll fight you for him,” Clint piped in, phone put away and bow held out. His free hand reached behind him to pick out a suction cup arrow from his quiver.

“Bring it,” Steve said and brought his fists up, a grin on his lips.

Bucky snorted and said, “Nerds,” while Lucky looked between them with excitement.

Bucky tried to duck back into the kitchen after the first arrow was shot – it landed smack on the door, right between the spiderwebs and the fake spiders stuck to it – but Clint made him stay and film his and Steve's whole nerd fight.

Nerd fight meaning Clint shooting arrows, Steve ducking and throwing pretend kicks and punches, and Lucky running between their legs until they nearly fell over. Liho came running out of the kitchen and batted at Steve's cape, but she got chased away by Lucky.

The fight was cut short, however, when Natasha and Maria walked into the living room only seconds after they had moved the fight to it. You'd think Clint and Steve were five year olds getting caught doing something they weren't supposed to with how quickly they stopped, a twin look of shame on their faces.

Bucky quietly took a photo.

Or four.

Dark fell within the hour, and the superheroes of the group went into the living room, while Natasha dragged Bucky and Sharon with her to the kitchen. Sharon for company, Bucky for a helping hand in putting candy in the various bowls put out.

“You know we're not gonna eat all of this, right?” Bucky asked as he poured a bag of sour candies into a spider covered bowl. “Not unless you want us all to die of sugar poisoning, or somethin'.”

“It's Halloween, James,” said Natasha, casting him a pointed look. “Kids trick or treat, believe it or not.”

“Tasha, there literally hasn't been a single kid here for hours,” Bucky pointed out, and Sharon hummed in agreement.

Just then, because the universe liked to prove him wrong, there was a knock on the door and a shout of “Trick or treat!” from the other side, and Natasha smiled sweetly at him. Huffing and making a face at her, Bucky grabbed one of the bowls and headed for the front door.

Except instead of a group of kids dressed in cheap costumes, he found Sam and Riley finally making an appearance.

“Wow,” Bucky started, eyeing first Riley, then Sam. “You look...”

Ridiculous, was the first word that popped into his head.

Sam looked like he had spend hours upon hours in a bath, soaking up an America bath bomb, until the entirety of America found its way into his veins and transformed him into the most American superhero in the entire galaxy.

Or, like America (the country, not the person) had puked all over him, and he hadn't bothered cleaning up.

“Patriotic,” Bucky finished, face scrunching at Sam's outfit.

“I look good, is what,” Sam said, grinning widely at him as he struck a pose.

“Sure,” Bucky drawled, eyes going downward to take in the whole patriotic outfit again. Didn't look any better on the second look over. “Who are you even supposed to be?”

“Captain America,” Sam answered, like it was so obvious.

“I don't know who that is.”

Sam hummed and shrugged, stepping behind Riley's wheelchair to grab the handles. “Maybe you should ask Steve about it sometime.”

Bucky frowned in confusion and stepped aside to let the two inside, following them into the living room.

The look on Steve's face was comical. He did a double take, then a triple take, and then groaned loudly and sunk further into his seat. “Sam, I fucking hate you,” he called out behind his hands that were currently hiding his face.

Sam snickered, Riley laughed, and Bucky looked at Steve and asked, “Stevie, who's Captain America?”

“Yeah, _Stevie_ ,” Sam said teasingly, and grinned wider in response to Steve's glare poking out between his spread fingers. “Tell him.”

All heads turned in Steve's direction – except for Natasha and Sharon still in the kitchen, and Lucky who was asleep by Clint's feet, worn out and unbothered and happily snoring softly. Liho had disappeared off further in the house a while ago – and Steve dropped his hands from his face with a heavy sigh.

“I'm gonna make you pay for this, just so you know,” he told Sam seriously, murder in his eyes but embarrassment shadowing over it.

“Or you'll send me a big thank you check when you become super famous, like I keep telling you this will make you,” Sam said back, looking nowhere near intimidated.

Steve didn't get to explain, however, because Natasha chose that moment to stroll into the living room. Her eyes immediately landed on Riley, narrowing in a second. “Why are you not in a costume?”

“I _am_ in a costume!” Riley protested immediately, eyes wide on Natasha as she glared coolly at him. “I'm a better looking professor Xavier, obviously.”

Bucky's brows furrowed in confusion, and Bobbi asked, “You're dressed as a famous professor for Halloween?”

Riley shrugged. “Yeah.” Natasha didn't stop glaring, so Riley sighed and continued with his shoulders slumping. “My body's sore from physio and a Stark visit, give me a break.”

“He's also my shield holder,” Sam added, nodding toward the American shield taped to the back of Riley's wheelchair.

Bucky's eyes went to Natasha, and he watched as her face softened slowly. “Fine,” she said after a calculating moment, her face going from soft to stern in the blink of an eye. “But at least let Clint put some make up on you. Your costume isn't that good.”

“Deal,” Riley agreed instantly, Clint already up from his seat.

Everyone else were suddenly much more interested in getting Riley into a scarier and better costume, but Bucky wasn't going to let this Captain America thing go, so he walked over to Steve and pulled him aside.

“So,” he started. “Captain America? Spill.”

Steve sighed heavily and lowered his gaze to their feet. “He's just this,” he made a few vague hand gestures, “comic book character I made up years ago. It's not a big deal.”

Bucky quirked a brow at him. “Oh really? 'Cause Sam is dressed like him, so it's gotta be a big deal. I'm kinda jealous he knows about this Captain America person and I don't, actually.”

Steve shifted his weight from one foot to the other, shooting the others a quick glance, before he grabbed Bucky's elbow and dragged him a few further steps away from them. “Alright, but only because I know you won't let this go until I tell you.”

“Damn right,” Bucky agreed with a nod.

Steve hesitated for another moment, before he said, “When I was 16, I was hospitalized for a couple of months.”

Bucky frowned and interrupted with, “Why?”

Steve lifted a shoulder. “My entire body was acting up, and my mom was scared I'd keel over and die. Which I almost did, but it's okay. I got better.”

“'m glad you did,” Bucky told him in a lowered voice, a smile tugging at his lips, a smile that Steve returned softly. “Anyway, Captain America. Go.”

“Right, well. I felt weaker than ever and terrible and everything was shit, so I came up with this character who was strong, had the perfect body both physically and health-wise, and things escalated. He sort of became the person I'd always dreamed of being but never could be, and then I... Well, I started drawing comics for him.”

“So you made yourself into a comic book character,” said Bucky. “That's pretty neat. Although, the costume?” He gestured over to where Sam was standing, back turned to them. “Looks like America puked all over him.”

“Well,” Steve said, “he _is_ called Captain America, after all.”

“Fair enough,” Bucky chuckled. He paused for a moment, then lightly nudged Steve and asked, “Hey, can I read those comics sometime?”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed after a second of hesitation. “I'll send you a link to them, and then you too can tease me about it.”

“Tease you about it?” Bucky huffed and stepped closer, wrapping his arm around Steve's shoulders and bringing him into his side. “Hell no, Stevie. I'll pester you until you make me your badass sidekick, is what I'm gonna do.”

Steve snorted and leaned into him, unbothered by the fake blood splattered on his torn shirt. “Right. I'll make you wear a domino mask and booty shorts.”

“Hey, don't make fun of booty shorts,” Bucky said, bringing his fist up to rub it against the top of Steve's head. “I look fuckin' great in them.”

Steve laughed but didn't say anything else. He didn't get the chance to either, because then Sam turned to them and called out between his cupped hands, “Clint wants to take pictures of the superheroes, c'mon!”

**[** … **]**

Halloween had never really been that big of a thing for Steve. As a kid, he could never go out and trick or treat with the rest of the kids his age because for one, he was almost always sick and stuck in either his room or the hospital. For another, he couldn't really eat any of the candy anyway, which took the fun out of it. For a third, he didn't have the friends.

He'd always liked the idea of it, felt jealous when he looked out his window and saw kids (and some teenagers, a handful of adults as well) running around in their costumes, bags of candy in their hands.

The closest thing he had gotten to a proper Halloween was with Thor, Peggy, and Angie in college. They had dragged him to a Halloween party, he'd gotten too overwhelmed and had started panicking, and they'd just ended up hanging out in either of their dorm rooms every year since. Costumes on and a horror movie to scare the living shit out of them.

He'd felt guilty, of course he had. But when he had told them to just go to the party they wanted to without him, Peggy had giving that stern look, Angie had told him they weren't going anywhere without him, and Thor had just swerved around the topic.

Halloween for him had always meant sitting in front of his television and watching horror movies until he passed out, so this party – gathering, Bucky had reminded him – at Natasha's was a new experience for him.

A good one, despite Sam showing up in a fucking Captain America outfit.

A part of him worried that he would feel excluded among the people who were so clearly close friends. Every single one of them, even the three women who Steve had never seen or heard of before.

“Tasha's spy friends,” Bucky had whispered to him after the three had been over to introduce themselves.

“Spysassin friends,” Clint had agreed in a whisper, and he and Bucky had snorted and bumped fists.

But no, Steve didn't feel excluded. For the first time in a group bigger than three, he felt included. It helped that Sam was there, helped even more that Riley was there as well, and it was nice. Alien to him, sure, but he didn't feel as anxious and nervous as he thought he would.

It especially helped that Bucky was there, practically plastered to his side like the most tame zombie.

Around midnight, just after Clint had toasted to welcome November and just as they had all relocated to the living room, there was a rustle of wind outside followed by a loud knocking that echoed in the now quiet house.

“Are you expecting more guests?” asked Clint, turning to Natasha who didn't answer with anything more than a quick shake of her head as she stood from her seat next to him.

Steve was suddenly very aware of how many of the people in the room were either ex-military or working for the government like Natasha – cautious, suspicious, and paranoid people.

Bucky tensed next to him, sitting up straighter and moving closer to him, like he was ready to be a human shield if needed be. Clint was up and following after Natasha in a second, his bow gripped tightly in his hand. Sam was up as well, and Riley gripped the wheels of his chair. Bobbi, Maria, and Sharon looked warily after Natasha and Clint, but none of them moved.

All of them listened as the door was opened, and all of them collectively let out a sight of relief, a few of them groaning too, when they heard the unmistakable voice of Tony Stark himself.

Even Steve knew his voice, and he'd never met him.

“Trick or treat!” Tony called out, and Steve could more feel rather than see the eye roll Bucky did.

“I didn't invite you, Tony,” he heard Natasha say, followed by footsteps.

“No, but you did invite Pepper and as her boyfriend, I feel like that means me as well,” Tony said, and Natasha came into the living room with a roll of her eyes, a strawberry blonde woman in a princess Leia costume – the A New Hope dress and hair put into buns – following after her.

And behind them, Tony Stark walked in wearing a robotic suit, gold and red and face plate lifted. Steve snorted loudly. “Who are you supposed to be?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“Iron Man,” Tony answered easily, shooting him a look like _he_ was the idiot for not knowing.

“Who the fuck is Iron Man?” Bucky piped in, making a face.

“Me,” said Tony, pointing to himself with his metal clad hands. “I just said that.”

Just then, as Natasha and the stranger – Steve guessed that would be Pepper – shared a look, Clint walked back into the living room with a man in a military uniform by his side. Immediately, Sam shot up from where he had sat back down and said, “Colonel Rhodes!” as he saluted.

The man – Rhodes – smiled at Sam and walked over, offering his hand that Sam didn't hesitate to shake. “Wilson, good to see you again,” he said. His eyes then swept over his costume, and his smile turned into a grin. “Nice outfit.”

Steve only took his eyes off of them, because Tony moved to stand in front of him, his suit whirring much like Bucky's arm did when it strained a bit too much. “Steve Rogers, right?” he asked in lieu of greeting.

“Yeah,” Steve said slowly, eyeing Tony almost nervously.

“Nice to put a face to the name. I've read your comic,” Tony continued. “The Nazi fighting captain one.”

Bucky turned to Steve and asked, “How come _he_ got to read it and I didn't?” and Steve quickly said, “Buck, it's on the internet, anyone can read it. Besides, I don't even know him!” but Tony ignored them both and continued on.

“You ever thought about getting it published?” Tony asked, and Steve whirled around and stared at him, eyes wide in surprise.

“Excuse me?”

“I know people,” said Tony with a movement that was probably a shrug but his suit hindered him. “That's the good thing about being a multimillionaire with famous parents, you make connections. I could make a few calls, and your Captain America thing could be on comic book shelves all over the country within the month.”

“You're not a comic reader,” Bucky spoke up from beside Steve. “How the hell do you even know about it?”

“When someone sends me an angry email,” Tony said, and Steve cursed quietly to himself as he lowered his head, “I do my research. Literally, it popped up on the first page on Google. It's good though, so what do you say, Cap? You interested?”

Sighing heavily, Steve lifted his head and looked at Tony. “Don't call me that.”

“Got it. Now answer the question.”

Steve opened his mouth to tell him no, but then Tony barreled on with, “Oh hey, hearing aid. You want a Stark one? Much better than the one you've got, I guarantee it.”

Gaping, Steve turned to Bucky. “Is he serious?”

Bucky sighed and shrugged. “Unfortunately, yeah.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” Tony turned around and lifted a whirring arm to point at Clint. “Barton! You want some Stark hearing aids, yes or no?”

Clint hummed and said, “Nat says you can make them purple.”

“Absolutely,” Tony said instantly and walked over, apparently done with the conversation with Steve. Although, he did turn around, hand him a card, and said, “Think about it, Rogers. The offer stands anytime, just give me a call,” before he completely turned away from them.

Steve stared after him, shocked and slowly processing all of … that.

“I think I hate him a little bit,” he finally announced, still staring.

Bucky snorted and wrapped his arm around him. “Welcome to the club.”

**[** … **]**

Steve was laughing, head thrown back and throat long and eyes closed tight and a hand clutching onto Sam's chest, Sam who was chuckling and grinning proudly at whatever he had said that had made Steve do a full body laugh. Steve was laughing, his beautiful laugh drowned out by the people talking around them, and Bucky couldn't take his eyes off of him.

Bucky was standing on the other side of the room, leaning against a wall and nursing a glass of lemonade. He was standing there, watching them- _him_ , when it happened.

It hit him like a train coming out of nowhere, colliding with his heart and knocking the breath out of him so quickly, that Bucky nearly lost his footing for a second, despite the support against his back.

He was in love with Steve.

_In love_.

“Shit,” he breathed quietly to himself as his eyes widened and his chest rose and fell with his quick and short breaths.

He didn't know how he could possibly not have seen it before now. Sure, he had been aware of the slight crush he had had on Steve ever since they first met, but he always thought that those feelings would eventually wash away and they could continue to be best friends, without any complications. He never thought that tiny, little crush could turn into something as serious as love, but fuck, there he was.

He loved Steve. _Loved_ him. So much that his heart ached just looking at him.

“Uh oh,” he heard Natasha say somewhere to his left. “I think he just figured it out.”

But he didn't turn in her direction and send her a scowl or a warning glare like he usually would, because he was too caught up in his own thoughts of _holy shit, I love Steve Rogers_ , and he couldn't really focus on anything else but that and panic.

Not until there suddenly was a hand clasped around his elbow, and a Green Arrow dragging him away from the living room and into the kitchen.

“Bucky, don't go hyperventilating on me, man,” Clint said as he took the glass of lemonade from him, letting go of him afterward. “Can't have you end up an actual dead person, that would stink.”

Bucky slumped against the kitchen counter, lifted his head slightly, and looked around. The kitchen was empty, except for Liho eating from her bowl and him and Clint, Natasha walking in after them.

“James,” she said, coming to stand in front of him. She looked at him with the kind of worry she only had for very few people. “Talk to me.”

“I love him,” Bucky admitted after a whole minute of the words dying in his throat. “Fuck, I love him.”

“Congratulations,” said Natasha, a small smile curling at the corners of her lips, the glint in her eye teasing. “You've caught up with the rest of us.”

Bucky send her a glare, and Clint stepped in and said, “Nat, don't be mean. He's freaking out, obviously.”

“He is also a grown man,” Natasha pointed out.

“Tasha, come on,” Bucky complained in an almost whine – he _was_ a grown man and grown men did not whine. “What do I do?”

“Simple. Tell him.”

“What?” Grown men, however, did squeak, apparently. “Are you insane? I can't just fuckin' tell him!”

Natasha send him a look, silently telling him he was being an idiot, and opened her mouth probably to tell him verbally as well, but Clint cut her off before she could get a single syllable out.

“Do you remember how miserably I was pining for Nat?” he asked, a crooked smile on his lips.

“Don't think I could ever forget,” mumbled Bucky after letting out a huff. “You were insufferable. But what does that have to do with anything? This is a totally different situation.”

“Not really,” said Clint with a shrug. “You were making hearteyes at Steve since the moment you met him, I was doing the same with Nat the second she came to interrogate your new roommate, aka me. You realized you were in love with him after a few months, and okay, yeah, it only took me a few weeks to realize I was in love with Nat, but it's still pretty much the same.”

Bucky wasn't looking at her, but he knew Natasha was blushing. The kind of slight blushing that was only really visible if you knew to look for it. And Bucky did know, but he wasn't turning to look because he didn't need the visual confirmation. Her slight shifting that he caught out of the corner of his eye was enough evidence for him.

“Not the same,” Bucky told him again. “Natasha wasn't your best friend before you asked her out. Steve is mine, and I don't...” He cut himself off, swallowing thickly as he shook his head. “I can't lose him.”

There was a moment of silence, before Natasha stated, “And you think that telling him you love him and asking him out on a date will mean you lose him.”

Bucky nodded. Clint snorted and said, “Okay, now I'm gonna have to agree with Nat. You're an idiot if you think he won't still be your friend if you tell him how you feel. Hell, he'd probably climb you like a tree on the spot, 'cause there's no way that kid doesn't love you right back.”

Bucky huffed and put his arm over his chest. “Platonically, maybe.” He didn't see it because he was looking at his feet, but he knew the two of them shared a look.

None of them got any further though, because then there was a “Hey,” from the doorway to the kitchen, and Bucky whipped his head up to see Steve poking his head in, a worried crease between his brows.

“Everything okay in here?” Steve asked and stepped in, eyes locked onto Bucky.

And Bucky got the air knocked out of him all over again because fuck, he loved him.

Forcing a smile, Bucky nodded and stepped out between Clint and Natasha and headed over to Steve instead. “Yeah, everything's great,” he lied, knowing full well it wasn't convincing to anyone.

But he just put his arm around Steve's shoulders and guided him back out the kitchen, and hoped to whoever would listen that Clint and Natasha would just forget about it and never bring it up ever again. And that they wouldn't pester him about it later, like he suspected they would.

And he hoped – fuck, did he hope – that he could ignore these feelings of love and want and not do something stupid that would ruin his friendship with Steve.

Something stupid that would result in losing his best friend.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize the last line sounds like foreshadowing, but it's not.  
> ........ oR IS IT ??!?!?!?
> 
> Rebloggable on [tumblr](http://hoechlbutt.tumblr.com/post/154086744638).
> 
> Kudos and comments give me life. <3


	11. November, part one

**NOVEMBER – MONTH FIVE, WEEK TWO**.

“Come on, one more.”

“No.” Steve shook his head, hand rubbing his stomach. “No more or I'll puke.”

“Come oooon, it's the last one.”

“Sam, seriously. Quit it or I'll puke on you.”

“Steve. I dare you.”

Instantly, Steve snapped his eyes open and glared over at Sam, who was grinning and waggling the last slice of pizza in front of him, that smug look on his face he always had when he knew he had won. The fucking bastard.

“I hate you,” Steve grumbled as he snatched the pizza slice out of Sam's hand. He took a large bite of it, despite his stomach being seconds away from exploding with how full he was.

“You know you don't have to eat it, right?” Bucky said from where he was laid out on the floor, Lucky laid on top of him, tail wagging against his thigh and head rested on his chest.

Sam laughed and said, “Oh, but I dared him so he has to. Idiot can't back down from a challenge. It's the best thing about him, really.”

Steve raised a hand and flipped him off, his mouth too full of pizza to get words out that were anything but a gross muffle. Three bites in and he was moaning quietly, rubbing his poor stomach with every bite.

“Really? And here I thought the best thing about him was that he's been able to put up with you for years now,” said Bucky in a lowered voice, right hand lightly scratching Lucky's head. “I mean, you're terrible. I can barely stand you, and I've known you for well over a year now.”

Steve snorted and immediately groaned at the way his stomach clenched, but he just shoved more pizza into his mouth. Because Sam was right; he was a goddamn idiot, and he hated himself a little more with every bite that got shoved into his mouth. By his own hand, the traitor.

“Ha-ha,” Sam said humorlessly and threw his balled up napkin at Bucky's head. It bounced off of his forehead, and Steve would have applauded his aim if he wasn't a little bit preoccupied at the moment.

“I'm gonna fucking die,” he complained before biting into the crust. “I'm gonna split open and it's all your fault, Sam.”

Sam laughed, Bucky snorted, and Steve let out a heavy breath as he ate the last bit of pizza crust, before he promptly fell back onto the couch, one arm slung over his eyes and his other hand resting on his too full stomach. “Goodbye, cruel world,” he groaned.

“You're so dramatic,” Sam said, and Steve didn't need to look to know he was rolling his eyes, nor did he need to look to know that Sam was grinning widely at him. The smug fucker.

“Did you guys kill Steve?” he heard Clint ask a minute later, felt the couch cushion by his feet dip right after, and he groaned in response, long and zombie-like.

“He did that to himself,” said Sam somewhere toward the kitchen area or maybe by the front door, Steve didn't know and right now, he didn't care.

Because he was dying.

“I'm dying,” he announced in a murmur, his stomach churning.

“Awww, Steve, no,” Clint practically whined. There was a hand rubbing gently at Steve's stomach a moment later, but he instantly slapped it away with a painful groan. “You're either gonna poop or puke it out, let me at rub your tummy to make it better.”

Reluctantly, Steve let him. He ended up spending a solid ten minutes in the bathroom and when he returned to the living room, Bucky had taken his spot on the couch. Bucky turned to him when he came into view and gave him a sheepish look. Steve said nothing and just plopped down in his lap, making himself comfortable instead.

Bucky stiffened underneath him, and Steve, taking it for discomfort, said, “You took my seat, Buck. Live with the consequences.”

“Trust me,” Natasha said from where she was leaning against the wall by the kitchen, a little grin on her lips that Steve almost took for knowing. “I doubt he minds.”

“Tasha,” Bucky warned at the same time Clint squeaked out a, “Nat!” and Steve looked between the three of them, before sharing a look with a just as confused Sam.

“I feel like we're missing out on something,” he told him, and Sam hummed in agreement. None of the three currently having a glare off said anything though, and whatever it was was dropped.

Bucky said nothing about their new seating arrangement, so Steve didn't move and stayed in his lap.

Clint had the great idea of a Super Smash tournament a short while later, which was how Steve ended up leaning back against Bucky's chest, while the other four were furiously kicking each other's asses on screen – Natasha was winning the last time Steve looked.

Steve would have played too, but his stomach was still hurting and his phone grabbed his attention anyway, so he passed. It was Thor in the College Squad group chat that Peggy had created a few years back.

> **[08:10 PM] Thor** : JANE AND I ARE ENGAGED!!

A bright smile pulled at his lips, and he instantly typed out a response, Peggy's and Angie's making it seconds before and after his did.

> **[08:11 PM] Angie** : OMG!!! CONGRATS !!! [hearteye emoji x5]

< **[08:11 PM] Steve** : Atta boy, Thor! Congrats!

> **[08:12 PM] Peggy** : CONGRATULATIONS! I expect a full retelling when you're done celebrating.

“What are you smiling at?” Bucky asked him, and Steve turned his head slightly to look at him.

“My friend, Thor. The tattoo artist?” he added, and Bucky nodded. “He just got engaged.”

“Seriously?” Bucky smiled widely at him. “That's awesome! Hey, tell him congrats from me.”

“And me!” Sam called out, then immediately cursed loudly when Natasha kicked him off screen.

Steve chuckled and said, “Sure.” He had the message half typed out, when he remembered what he had promised Thor back in September. Back when Thor told him he was going to propose to Jane.

_Shit_ , he cursed quietly to himself. He had promised to bring Bucky. As his plus one.

Oh, the teasing would be never-ending.

**[** … **]**

“Don't do it.”

“I'm gonna do it.”

“Steve, please don't do it.”

“Buck, don't tell me I can't do it.”

“I'm not saying you can't do it, I'm saying you're a fuckin' idiot if you think it's a good idea. For fuck's sake, Stevie, it's _snowing_! It'll be slippery!”

Steve tipped his head back and squinted up at the small, little flakes of snow falling from the gray sky. It wasn't a lot, the snow barely staying on the ground for more than a second or two before either being trampled down by the people walking by or melting away. Give it a few days though, and there might be an inch thick layer of snow staying for a while.

Steve was already wearing a scarf and gloves and a hat – neon pink. Bucky had bought it, not knitted it because, all too quickly, he had given up and thrown the knitting needles out the window. Two days after borrowing them from someone at the VA – and it was getting colder by the day, his feet covered in thick socks and tugged away in his warm boots.

“I'm gonna do it,” Steve decided again with a single, determined nod.

Bucky sighed exasperatedly, but he did nothing to stop Steve when he bolted after Clint, following him to the pond in the park, where Clint was currently balancing on one of the rocks way too close to the edge of the water, arms stretched out and tongue poking out between his lips in concentration.

“Ten bucks one of them falls in,” Riley said from where he was standing next to Sam.

“Twenty says they both fall in,” Sam muttered, shaking his head as Steve jumped up on a rock, his feet sliding and arms waving widely and he somehow managed to hold his balance.

“Forty says a cop's gonna show up and they're gonna get told off,” Natasha said. She was watching the two idiots with a tired look on her face – probably because this was far from the first time those two did something idiotic.

“A hundred says we just grab them both and end it, before they hurt themselves,” Bucky suggested. He could easily carry Steve, Natasha and Sam could grab Clint. “Or get arrested,” he added a second later.

But his suggestion was shut down in a chorus of a hard, “No,” because as exasperated as they all were with those two, bets had been made. And apparently no one in this friend group knew how to back down from bets.

It didn't happen in slow motion like it probably would have in a movie. It happened fast, too fast for any of them to react in time to stop it.

“Guys, check this out- Oh shit!” Clint slipped on a rock he had jumped to and fell backwards toward the cold pond, his hands instinctively reaching out for the nearest thing to keep him from falling.

The nearest thing meaning Steve.

They both yelped and water splashed, and Bucky sprinted forward, while Natasha sighed heavily and muttered, “Clint Barton, you fucking moron,” to herself, and Sam turned to Riley and said, “You owe twenty.”

Bucky was sure he heard Riley say, “How 'bout I just blow you instead?” but he didn't care enough to make a gagging noise or send him a disgusted look. He was too busy grabbing onto Steve and hauling him out of the pond, Clint spluttering but jumping out on his own while pulling his hearing aids (Stark branded and bright purple) out of his ears.

Neither of them got hurt and honestly, it surprised absolutely no one when, a week later, they were both sick.

**[** … **]**

**NOVEMBER – MONTH FIVE, WEEK THREE**.

Clint had been a nightmare to live with – well, more than usual – for the last day his cold had been really bad. His ears were oversensitive, so he wasn't wearing his hearing aids, which meant Bucky couldn't yell at him to shut the fuck up whenever he groaned or whined or complained about how miserable he was, nor could he be loud and wake Clint up when he snored like a fucking chainsaw on the couch.

It was an absolute nightmare, and Bucky was done with it.

“Tasha,” he whined into his phone, rubbing his temple with his metal hand, as he tried to block out the sound of Clint's snoring. It didn't help that Lucky was snoring too. Like owner, like dog. “Please come take care of your stupid boyfriend, before I murder him.”

Natasha was silent for a second, a silence that Bucky knew meant she was giving him the stink eye. “You do know I'm at work, right?”

“Can't you just take the day off or-” He was interrupted, when Clint snorted exaggeratedly loud for a second, and Bucky glared daggers at him. “Do you hear what I have to deal with? I'm gonna strangle him.”

There was a sigh on the other end, a bit of chatter in the background, and then Natasha said, “I'll be there in an hour. Take a walk or go punch a pillow. Do not take it out on the sick moron, or there will be more than one murder today.”

She hung up without warning right after.

If Bucky didn't know her as well as he did, he would feel threatened. But he did know her, and he just smiled down at his phone. She threatened to kill him if he did anything to Clint. Clearly, the human chainsaw was good to her, and that was enough reason for Bucky to let Clint live for another day.

He did, however, need to get the hell out of the apartment, because he was losing it.

Lucky's head lifted and turned to him the moment the sound of keys jingled under the sound of the chainsaw snoring. Bucky shook his head and held out a hand, silently ordering Lucky to stay and look out for his owner. Clint needed his dog, after all.

Bucky planned on going to the park or to the gym or maybe to the Maximoffs' for a quiet lunch, but his feet were moving on their own and taking him in the direction of Steve, Sam, and Riley's building. Because Steve was sick, probably more than Clint, and he was worried.

Since Sam had texted him to let him know Steve was sick three days ago, Bucky had been worried. He expected to get a text telling him Steve was in the hospital again every time his phone vibrated, and it was horrible. It was like he was on the verge of a panic attack at all hours of the day, jumping every time his phone buzzed, and it definitely hadn't helped that he had to deal with Clint for those same days.

He was two minutes from the building, when his phone vibrated with a text from Sam, his heart jumping into his throat before he opened it.

> **[12:03 PM] Bird Fucker 2.0** : you up for switching one sick idiot out with another? i gotta get to work and this one aint doing so hot

The breath he had been holding left him in a rush, the breath coming out as a cloud in the cool air.

< **[12:03 PM] Bucky** : be there in 2

There was no reply from Sam, and when he knocked on Steve's front door exactly two minutes after pressing send, it was Sam who answered with a curious frown.

“Do you have some secret teleportation powers I don't know about?” he asked, stepping aside to let Bucky in when he moved forward.

“Was already on my way over,” Bucky explained with a half shrug, eyes darting over to the bedroom door. It was ajar, the room dark behind it. “How's he doing?”

Sam sighed softly and followed his eyes to the bedroom door. “Better than last night but still not great. He's been having trouble breathing and hearing right, and he hasn't been able to keep anything down since yesterday morning. Fever's going down a little, now. He won't let me take him to the hospital, 'cause apparently he can't afford it, even though I keep telling him that yes, he can.”

Sam paused, shaking his head shortly. “You know, he doesn't like hospitals. Never lets me take him to one even when he really needs it. He just keeps insisting he's had worse, 'cause he's a stubborn asshole.”

They both huffed, and Sam continued, now turned to Bucky. “He has had worse, though. Not the first time he's gone through a bad cold, won't be the last. Steve's a fighter, so don't worry. Just keep him warm, hydrated, and get him something to eat.”

Bucky nodded, throat tight, and Sam left after squeezing his shoulder and letting him know that Riley would be home in a few hours if he needed help with anything.

Back when Bucky still lived with his parents, he would occasionally take care of his sister when she got sick. Becca was an easy patient, because she mostly just slept until the fever subsided, and then slept some more with a few woken moments to drink and eat. She had been easy to take care of, but she was also his sister, and Steve was different.

Bucky loved Steve in a completely different way, and Steve's body wasn't as strong and healthy as Becca's. Steve's perseverance and soul were the strongest Bucky had ever been around, but his body was still weak. Especially now, and it terrified Bucky.

He wanted to go in and yell at Steve, tell him “I told you so,” but that would do no good. But more than anything, he wanted to go in there and wrap himself around Steve and take away his sickness.

Slowly, Bucky walked over to the door and carefully and quietly pushed it open, stepping into the dark room. Steve was curled up in bed, two blankets thrown over him and tugged up under his chin. His face was pale, cheeks red with fever, and a glean of sweat beaded on his forehead.

He looked terrible, and Bucky's heart clenched.

“Hey,” he whispered softly as he sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching out to lightly brush a few hairs out of Steve's burning face.

Steve grunted and shifted, face scrunching up. His eyes opened a few seconds later, squinting, and he sighed as he brought his hands free from under the blankets. _You look tired_ , he signed slowly, hands shaking just a little from what Bucky assumed was dehydration and exhaustion.

_Clint is a terrible roommate_ , Bucky signed back slowly and let a little smile tug at his lips, when Steve huffed in slight amusement. It washed away quickly, however, when Steve started coughing. “I'll be right back,” he whispered and brushed his hand over Steve's head, before he stood and left the bedroom to get some water.

Steve slept most of the day away, only waking up when Bucky made him to get something to eat (it stayed down, thank God) and drink. He complained each and every time, wanting to stay under the warm blankets. Bucky didn't blame him and guided him right back down under every time he had gotten just a little bit in his stomach.

Clint texted Bucky sometime around four.

> **[04:06 PM] OG Bird Fucker** : [skull emoji]

It was a sign of life, and that was enough to settle the worry that had been gnawing at Bucky's brain, even though he was highly annoyed at Clint at the moment.

The guy couldn't help it, he knew that. But Clint had kept him up for three nights in a row, and Bucky was starting to feel the sleep deprivation.

Riley stopped by with soup around dinner time, and Bucky managed to get Steve out of bed for a trip to the bathroom and some of the soup around eight. Steve conked out and slept through most of the night after, only waking up every few hours to cough and use his inhaler and let Bucky drip his ears to prevent an infection.

It was around noon the following day, that Steve carefully shuffled out of the bedroom, blankets wrapped around him and looking groggy. But there was color in his cheeks, his eyes were open behind his glasses, and he was only staggering slightly.

Instantly, Bucky shot up from the couch and went over to him. “You should be in bed, you punk.”

Steve groaned but didn't protest when Bucky guided him to the couch – although he did give him a weak shove of resistance. “I'm tired of being in bed,” he said, voice rough, and sat down with a huff. “I feel better, anyway.”

Bucky sat down next to him and put his flesh hand to Steve's forehead, ignoring the scoff. “Mh, you're still a bit warm.”

“You calling me hot, Barnes?” There was a teasing tone in Steve's voice, but the tease fell short when he ended up coughing a second later.

“Oh yeah,” Bucky said carefully flat, rubbing Steve's back through the blankets. “The hottest guy I've ever laid my eyes on.” His heart clenched, because it wasn't a lie, it wasn't teasing. It was true, even when he was sick and miserable, but Steve didn't know that.

Scoffing, Steve brought his legs up to the couch and wrapped himself in the blankets, sniffling softly and coughing roughly.

“You hungry?” Bucky asked, moving to stand up before Steve shook his head.

“No, it's okay,” he said. “You can go home, I'll be fine on my own.”

Well, that just wouldn't do.

Bucky huffed and sat down next to Steve again, facing him. “Do you not remember what I said last month? 'Til the end of the line, Stevie. Sickness and in health.”

Steve's cheeks colored a bit more, pink dusting over his pale skin. “Geez, Buck, are we gettin' married?”

“If that's what it takes for you to let me take care of you, sure,” Bucky said with a shrug, ignoring how his heart pounded in his chest at the mere idea of marrying Steve. “I'll go grab Riley, have him marry us. Right here in your living room, with snot hanging outta your nose and everythin'.”

Steve laughed, the sound rough in his sore throat, and ran the back of his hand under his nose. Only to make a face and a disgusted noise. Bucky handed him a napkin, then went to grab him some water and the bowl of soup Sam had brought over when Steve had still been asleep.

Steve ate what he could of it and an hour later, he was asleep again. This time on the couch with his head in Bucky's lap, and Bucky couldn't take his eyes off of him.

Night fell and morning came, and Steve was better. His fever was practically gone, but he was grouchy and still snotty and his voice was hoarse and practically gone, and Bucky kept getting grumpy replies to everything he said to him.

And god, he loved him so much.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rebloggable on [tumblr](http://hoechlbutt.tumblr.com/post/154086744638).


	12. November, part two

**NOVEMBER – MONTH FIVE, WEEK FOUR**.

Thanksgiving was only a few days away, and Steve felt that somber mood from a month ago sneak up on him again.

He had no family to go to this year, just like the year before. Thanksgiving used to be just him and his mom and maybe a few of his mom's friends who also lacked in the family department, but that was it. Him and his mom, eating a turkey if they could afford it and giving what they couldn't eat to people who needed it.

Last year, Steve had been too depressed to even think about doing anything for Thanksgiving. He had ended up going to Thor and letting him ink him as distraction, because Thor was Norwegian and didn't care for Thanksgiving. He didn't even really know what it was all about, he'd admitted with a chuckle as he put some detail on the Rebel logo on Steve's bicep.

This year, Thor was with Jane and her family, and Steve was alone.

Sam and Riley were leaving in a day to go to Sam's parents' place, Bucky was off to his own family, and Clint and Natasha had already left for Clint's brother's place for the week.

So Steve was alone, but he was making his peace with it. He had already looked at places to volunteer, because sitting by himself was too depressing when the rest of the country would be eating turkey and saying what they were thankful for and being surrounded by other people.

He was done being stuck in the same place and having to repeat the loneliness over and over again.

He needed to move on, so he would.

Still recovering from the cold, Steve was wrapped in a blanket by his drawing board, when there was a sharp knock on his front door. Just one and then nothing. The Bucky Has Arrived knock, and Steve rolled his eyes fondly.

“It's open, Buck!” he called out, coughing when he realized his voice was rough.

The door opened only a second later, and Bucky walked inside. His hair was loose today, framing his gorgeous face and falling over his shoulders lightly. He was dressed for winter, which told Steve that it was much colder outside than it was inside, because if Bucky was freezing then it must be bad.

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” Bucky asked in lieu of greeting.

Steve shrugged and turned back to what he was drawing; a new page for the Captain America comic, that he now didn't feel the need to cover up in embarrassment because Bucky already knew. “Volunteering, probably. Why?”

Bucky hummed and said, “Noble.” He walked over to him and looked over his shoulder, pausing for a minute. “Do your good work another day, 'cause you're coming with me for a Barnes Thanksgiving.”

“What?” Steve instantly stopped drawing and whipped around to look up at Bucky. “Buck, I can't do that-”

“Don't fight me on this, Stevie,” Bucky interrupted almost sternly, but he was smiling so it fell short. “You're coming with me even if I have to drag you.”

And that was how Steve found himself walking up to Bucky's childhood home, his palms sweaty in his gloves – and not from the warmth – and Bucky strutting along next to him with a warm smile on his lips.

“They're gonna love you,” Bucky said for not the first time during the trip over, and Steve still didn't believe him.

“Uh huh,” Steve managed to squeak out, trying so desperately to ignore the way his heart was pounding in his chest when he saw movement in the window by the front door of the house. He never was good at meeting his friends' families, didn't have much practice with it.

Peggy's parents didn't like him very much – they didn't like Angie either and Peggy had cut contact with them, so Steve wasn't worried about that. He'd only met Angie's mom once, back when they graduated, and Thor's parents were more interested in the art on his body than they were interested in him. Which was fine, really.

Sam's parents loved him, but he had only met them three or four times over the years. Riley's parents lived somewhere in Canada, and Steve had never met them.

Peggy, Angie, and Riley had no siblings. Thor's brother (“Stepbrother, actually,” Thor had said with a shrug when he introduced the College Squad to him) didn't like anyone, and Steve didn't particular like him either.

Sam had both a sister and a brother, and they both, like the Wilson parents, loved Steve. And Steve loved them right back. The Wilsons were great people.

But he didn't have much practice with meeting people's families and he didn't make good first impressions, and meeting Bucky's family felt huge. It felt more important than meeting any of his other friends'.

He didn't know why, but it did.

The door swung open and a girl maybe a few years younger than he and Bucky flew out of the house and ran right to them, jumping into Bucky's stretched out arms and letting herself be picked up and twirled around in a hug. Steve stopped and watched them, a little smile tugging at his lips despite his nerves.

“You're getting too old for this, squirt,” Bucky said, slightly strained which Steve guessed was because the girl's arms had circled around his neck in a tight grip.

“You're part robot now, deal with it,” she said, and Steve bit back a chuckle, while Bucky full-out laughed and squeezed her until she yelped and pulled back.

“I've missed you, Becs,” Bucky said, a blinding smile on his lips, that, even though wasn't directed at him, had Steve's heart pounding and possibly even skipping a beat.

“Missed you too, Bucket,” the girl – Becca, Bucky's sister, Steve finally put two and two together – said with a similar smile, and this time Steve did snort, which had her head turning toward him. “Put me down, big bro,” she said, patting Bucky's right arm. “I wanna greet the boyfriend.”

Steve blinked and felt heat rising in his cheeks. Bucky's eyes widened and his face went red as he very quickly, and maybe a bit too loudly, said, “Best friend, Becca! _Best_ friend, not boyfriend, geez.”

Steve ignored the pang of hurt at how quickly Bucky had denied that, but, well, it was true.

“Is your hearing really that bad?” Bucky asked, a teasing tone in his voice. “Should talk to Stark 'bout that, since he got Clint some fancy hearing aids. Could get you some too, 'cause apparently your hearing's going in your old age.” He reached out to poke at Becca's ear, and Becca slapped his hand away.

“Alright, alright,” she said with a roll of her eyes, feet back on the ground. “I won't embarrass you in front of your _friend_ ,” she send her brother a pointed look, that probably said more than Steve could make out, “anymore.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” Bucky mumbled quietly under his breath, and Becca stepped over to Steve with a friendly smile on her lips.

Now that she was close, Steve could see the clear resemblance between the two siblings. They had the same color eyes, that pale and piercing color that looked like a sky after a storm, and the same curl in the corner of their lips when they smiled, the same little crinkle between their eyes, the same cleft in their chin, the same sharpness in their features, the same beauty.

“Hi,” said Becca, thrusting her hand out toward him. “I'm Rebecca, the better Barnes.” Bucky snorted, but they both ignored him. “But you can call me Becca.”

Steve took her hand, not at all surprised by the strong grip. “Steve Rogers,” he introduced himself as, then grinned just slightly. “Are there any Barnes who actually use their first names?”

Becca barked a laugh, face open with joy as she turned to look at her brother over her shoulder. “I like him,” she stated, and Steve felt oddly proud of himself for getting her approval. She turned back to him and said, “And only our old, boring dad, really. Ma still refuses to be called Winifred. She insists on everyone calling her Winnie.”

Steve let out a little puff of air and nodded. “Noted.”

The Barnes house was like so many other American family houses. The kind you'd see on sitcom shows' sets and in magazine. Steve and his mom had always lived in small, crappy apartments in the poor areas of Brooklyn, so this was a whole lot different.

Good different, but Steve couldn't help but feel a little bit smaller than he already did, as he walked in through the front door, Becca's arm swung over his shoulders like they were old friends and not strangers.

“Ma!” Becca called into the house, and Steve winced just slightly at the volume so close to his good ear. “Bucky's here with his boyfr-” She got cut off by Bucky nudging her roughly, glaring at her. “His _best_ friend,” she corrected and shot him a dirty look, sticking her tongue out, which Bucky returned, and Steve snickered at the sibling bickering.

The sound of high heels on the hardwood floor was what Steve heard first, then a woman's voice saying, “Ooh, the boy we've heard so much about?” excitedly, and Steve didn't need to look to know Bucky was not only flushing but rolling his eyes.

He did, however, look at him and raised a brow, a teasing grin on his lips. “You've been talking about me to your family?” he asked, grinning wider when Bucky's face turned pink.

“Dude, he hasn't shut up about you,” Becca said with a snort.

Steve's heart warmed, his cheeks pinked, and he send Bucky a quick look, before he turned to look at the woman coming out from the room to their immediate right.

Winifred Barnes was an average sized woman, a bit on the smaller side. Her dark and slightly graying hair was pulled up and styled in what looked like a complicated hairstyle, one of those Steve had seen Peggy do in a second like it was nothing. She looked much younger than she probably was, the smile that spread her lips and showed a row of white teeth was bright and welcoming, and her pale eyes were slightly watery with tears when they landed on her son.

“There you are,” she said as she trotted over, arms held out and instantly wrapping around Bucky in a tight and motherly hug, that had Steve suddenly missing his own. “Oh, I have missed you, James.”

“Missed you too, ma,” Bucky said back, his right arm tight around his mom and the left carefully laid gently around her. Steve noticed the tightness in his voice.

Winifred leaned back after another squeeze and raised a hand to Bucky's cheek, a smile on her lips that quickly turned to a frown. “You look tired,” she said, and a flash of guilt flickered over Bucky's face. “Have you been sleeping well enough, honey?”

Bucky shrugged and said, “'s fine, ma.”

Winifred's plucked brows flew up her forehead, and even Steve wanted to hunch and hang his head in shame. A mother's stern gaze had that effect. “James Buchanan Barnes,” she said sternly.

“Uh oh,” Becca muttered to Steve. “He just got full named.”

“It is not fine that you don't get enough sleep,” Winifred continued, the hand previously on Bucky's cheek now in front of his face, curled into a fist and a finger pointing at him. “You need your sleep, young man, do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma,” said Bucky in a small voice, and Steve bit his lip to not laugh. Bucky was a man in his late twenties, and yet he sounded like a little kid being scolded by his mom. It was rather endearing, actually.

“If it's because of your new prosthetic,” Winifred started, but Bucky interrupted.

“No, ma, my new arm's great. Look.” He lifted his left hand and wiggled it, and Steve noticed the frown on Winifred's face but he said nothing. “Works perfectly fine, I swear it.”

Winifred kept her eyes on the hand until Bucky dropped it and slipped it into his pocket, as if to hide it. She said nothing about it though, and instead suddenly changed the subject and exclaimed, “Oh, where are my manners!”

Bucky's face fell a little, Steve noticed, but he didn't say anything and instead smiled at Winifred when she turned to him. “Hi,” she said, smiling brightly back and holding out a hand “I'm Winifred Barnes, but call me Winnie. You must be Steve?”

Steve shook her hand and said, “Steve Rogers, ma'am. Thank you for letting me crash your Thanksgiving.”

He could hear Bucky snorting quietly, but he was focused on Winifred tutting and shaking her head. “The more the merrier, Steve. Always an extra plate in the Barnes household, you remember that.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Oh please, none of that ma'am bullshit,” Winifred said.

“Ma!” Bucky exclaimed, and Becca barked a laugh.

“Did I not just tell you to call me Winnie?” Winifred continued, ignoring her children and quirking a brow at Steve.

Steve bit back a grin. “Yes, ma- uh, Winnie.”

“Good,” said Winifred, looking pleased. She shot her kids a look, then sighed. “Now, let's go see if that lazy bum that's your dad has the time to be polite for once.”

George Barnes was a loud man. He was tall, taller than Bucky by just an inch or two, and Steve was intimidated by him for all of five seconds, before George broke into a wide grin and shook his hand enough to jostle his entire body, while telling him how excited he was that Bucky was making more friends, and how happy he was that Steve was good to his son.

“Dad,” Bucky whined, clearly embarrassed, but Steve just chuckled and let himself enjoy this.

After all, it wasn't often that he got to meet the people closest to him's families.

There was one thing that Steve quickly noticed about the Barnes family; how they dealt with Bucky's prosthetic. Becca had mentioned it back when she welcomed them, and Steve didn't think it was a big deal to her. But Bucky kept the prosthetic tugged away in his pocket, and neither Winifred nor George acknowledged it.

Steve didn't bring it up, though. Not until Winifred suggested Bucky show him his childhood bedroom, and Bucky guided him through the house, up the stairs, and into a room down the hall.

It was pretty clean for having no one living in it. Various space and science posters were hung on the white walls, along with a few boy band ones that had Steve grinning.

“Wow, Buck,” he said with a chuckle as he eyed the Backstreet Boys one. “Had a thing for boy bands, huh?”

Bucky sat down on the edge of the made bed with a scoff. “Don't make fun of me, everyone was into boy bands back then. I mean, I was a little more than the other guys, I just didn't know why at the time.”

Steve hummed quietly and eyed the books stacked on the desk. They looked nerdy, and he smiled quietly to himself. When he turned to face Bucky, though, the smile dropped a little. “Buck, can I ask you something?”

Bucky looked at him, paused, then nodded. “Yeah, 'course.”

Steve hesitated for a moment and shot the opened door a quick glance. He looked back at Bucky, his brows pinched together a little, and asked, “Your parents... Are they not comfortable with your arm?”

Bucky's face fell a little, and he sighed. “They're not _not_ comfortable with it,” he said in a near mumble, and Steve walked over to sit next to him. “We don't really see each other much, so they haven't really been able to get used to it, I guess. Sometimes they even forget I've only got the one real arm.”

“That sucks,” Steve said in a lowered voice.

Bucky lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, well. They're not assholes about it. We don't really talk about all the heavy shit, anyway. This is just one more thing we don't talk about, 's fine.”

Steve watched him quietly for a minute, then he knocked their shoulders together and smiled softly when Bucky looked at him. “Well, I for one think your arm is the coolest, just like the rest of you.”

Steve could have sworn Bucky blushed, but he didn't get to see much, before Bucky swung his right arm around his neck and pulled him in. “You would think it's cool, you nerd.”

Steve laughed and leaned his head against his chest, letting himself get noogied gently. “Says the guy who has nerd posters all over his room.”

They laughed and playfully wrestled, until Becca called for them to come downstairs and watch the parade with the rest of them.

In the Barnes household, it turned out, it was tradition to all sit and watch the parade, and Steve found himself in between the Barnes siblings on the comfortable three person couch in the spacious living room, Bucky's right arm swung over the back of it behind him and Becca more interested in his inked arms than the parade itself.

Steve himself wasn't all that interested in the parade either, and he happily told her about his tattoos and happily let himself be (politely) interrogated by Bucky's parents. It was intimidating and a little overwhelming, but they were nice people – if you looked past them ignoring Bucky's disability, but Steve wasn't about to make a scene. He was trying to make a good first impression on them, after all, he didn't need to lecture them. Not right now, at least.

Bucky was a bit quiet, throwing the usual sarcastic remark every once in a while but otherwise saying nothing. He had been more quiet than usual lately, and Steve suspected something was bothering him. He made a mental note to bring it up sometime soon, but not now.

It wasn't until Steve nudged him and pulled him into the conversation with his sister, that he seemed to relax a little and let the arm fall down from the back of the couch to around Steve. Subtly and he probably wasn't even aware of it, but Steve was acutely aware of the warmth that radiated from it – acutely aware of the weight pressing against his lower back.

The parade was tradition, but when it ended and the game was put on, the volume was turned down, Winifred left to the kitchen to finish the Thanksgiving meal, and the conversation continued without distractions from the television.

Not even George cared about the game, despite having claimed to being a sports fan just an hour ago.

Looked like he was more interested in speaking to his kids and their guests, which had Steve smiling. Although flawed, Bucky did have a nice family.

It wasn't anything special that triggered it, not really. Just Becca laughing at a memory that George brought up, something that had Bucky groaning and leaning his head against Steve's shoulder and cursing his family, but in that moment it hit Steve like a mountain of rocks falling from a great height, having taken forever to bury him.

He was in love with him.

He was _in love_ with Bucky, and the realization of that left him breathless.

“I need some air,” Steve announced suddenly, shooting up from his seat and away from Bucky's arm.

Instantly, Bucky's smile fell and worry creased between his brows. “You okay?”

Steve nodded tightly and said, “Yeah, just...” He gestured to his chest and send him a quick and forced smile. “Lungs. Gotta let them have some fresh air once in a while, y'know.”

The frown didn't leave Bucky's face, nor did he look convinced, but he nodded slowly. “Okay. Put your hat on, though. It's still snowing out there.”

Steve did tug his hat on – the stupidly neon pink hat that Bucky had bought him – but not without flushing a bright, red color. He made sure he was far enough away from the house, before he dug into his pocket for his phone and called Sam.

It wasn't until Sam picked up, however, that he remembered Sam was with his family and Riley.

“Hey man,” Sam greeted him, a smile in his voice and happy and loud chatter in the background, that could only be from the Wilsons.

“Shit,” Steve breathed, hanging his head and squeezing his eyes shut. “You're in the middle of dinner, I'm sorry. I'll just talk to you tomorrow.”

“Woah, hey, wait a second.” The chatter became more and more distant, and when Sam spoke again, it was quiet on his end. “What's going on, Steve?”

Steve sighed and leaned back against the fence around the Barnes house. “It's stupid.”

“How 'bout you tell me what's up and I'll be the judge of that?”

He hesitated.

Saying it out loud would make it so real, and Steve wasn't entirely sure he was ready to deal with that. Relationships... they had never been something he had been particularly good at, because his experience was so little. He had had one or two real relationships in the past, none that lasted more than a month or two because his partner always got tired of him. The rest of his experience was a bunch of failed, blind dates and random hook ups.

He had had no love life in any way for the past two or three years, though. Hadn't wanted to either, and now he was in love.

Stupidly, heartbreakingly in love.

“I'm in love with Bucky,” Steve finally admitted after a minute, his voice lowered to a quiet mutter that he could barely hear himself.

His heart pounded rapidly in his chest as he said the words, but he felt lighter after admitting it.

Like he went up in the clouds, pulled up by love – and then immediately pummeled back down, because nothing was going to happen, right? Not likely, anyway.

Sam was silent for a second, then slowly said, “Okay, that's it?”

Steve scoffed halfheartedly. “Sam, come on. I'm freaking out a little bit, don't be an asshole.”

Sam chuckled quietly, but he sobered quickly and said, “Sorry. Alright, so you're in love with Bucky. What are you gonna do about it?”

“I don't know,” Steve admitted quietly. What could he do? Tell Bucky how he felt and potentially ruin their friendship, because there was no way Bucky felt the same way about him? Yeah, he wasn't entirely up for that.

“Eat my feelings in ice cream, probably,” he added, and by the huff that came from the other end of the line, he knew Sam was rolling his eyes.

“Or tell him how you feel, dumbass.”

“I can't,” Steve whined.

“Why the hell not? Steve, you know he's gay, so you don't gotta worry about having fallen for a potentially straight boy. You also know you two work great together and are comfortable around each other, like scarily comfortable. You're practically already dating, except with less kissing and sex, and more platonic touches and stupid pining.”

Steve hesitated, fidgeting with the edge of his jacket. “But what about,” he started, lowering his voice a little, “my whole, y'know, _me_ thing?”

“You mean, you being-?”

“Yeah.”

Sam was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was soft. “Steve, if he has a problem with it, then first of all, he's not worth it, and second of all, I will personally beat his ass. But Bucky isn't like that, you know that. He won't have a problem with it.”

Steve let out a slow sigh and hang his head. Sam was right, he knew that. It was still something that nagged in the back of his head, worried him, because he hadn't told Bucky yet. They'd known each other for months and considered each other best friends, so Steve wasn't even sure why he hadn't told him yet.

Shaking his head, he said, “He's out of my league, Sam.”

There was a pause, then Sam deadpanned, “Okay, _now_ it got stupid.”

“I'm serious.”

“Yeah, so am I.” Steve fell silent, Sam continued. “If you think for one second that you're not good enough for Bucky, then you and I both know that Bucky himself would smack you over the head for thinking so low about yourself.”

A little smile tugged at Steve's lips, because Sam was, once again, right. Bucky would. “He's still out of my league. I mean, have you seen him?”

“Yeah, and I've also seen you, so shut your damn mouth and go kiss the living hell out of that man.”

Steve let out a light chuckle and opened his mouth, but he was interrupted when he heard Riley's voice on Sam's end. “Yo, is that Rogers? Steve! Happy Thanksgiving, man. Sam, put it on speaker.”

“Alright, nosy pants,” Sam said in a chuckle, and Steve couldn't help but smile a little.

“Hey, Steve,” said Riley. “How's Thanksgiving at Bucky's going?”

Steve sighed quietly and craned his neck around to look over his shoulder, eyes on the lit Barnes house. “It's going alright,” he told him.

“Steve just figured out he's in love with Bucky,” Sam said in a lowered voice, and Steve groaned at him.

“Sam, come on, man.”

“Seriously?” There was a clear smile in Riley's voice, and Steve buried his face in his free hand. “About damn time, if you ask me.”

“Why do you both make it sound like everyone knew already?”

“Because everyone does know,” Sam said flatly. “You take one look at you, and you know.”

Panic flared in Steve's chest. “Shit, do you think Bucky knows?”

Both of them laughed, and Sam said, “Hell no, that boy is as oblivious as you are.”

Steve let out a heavy breath, and the panic eased away little by little. “Thanks,” he mumbled dryly.

“So,” Riley said. “When do you plan on telling him? 'Cause if you ask me, Bucky could really use a good fuck. Might take the pissy mood out of him.”

“Oh my God,” Steve moaned into his chilly palm, while Sam barked a laugh. “I hate you so much.”

When Sam sobered from his laughter and Riley returned to the rest of the Wilsons, Sam said, “We'll talk about this later, okay? Go enjoy the rest of Thanksgiving.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed. “Yeah, alright. Thanks, Sam. Say hi to your folks from me.”

“Will do, Cap'n,” Sam said and hung up before Steve could groan at him for the nickname.

Steve stared down at his phone for several, long minutes after the call ended. He just sat there, letting it all sink in.

A part of him wanted to leave, go back to Brooklyn, and spend the rest of the night curled up in his bed. A part of him wanted to take a walk around the unfamiliar town he was in, but his fingers were freezing and his nose was getting cold. A part of him wanted to forget he ever had that realization, ignore it and hide it away.

But the biggest part of him wanted to go back inside, grab Bucky's face, and kiss him.

Shaking his head, Steve unlocked his phone and send a quick text to Peggy, telling her about the new … development in the Bucky department. She didn't answer, but he knew Angie had a performance to do, so he wasn't surprised at the lack of a response. He would, however, have a hell of a conversation with her when she did have time to check her phone, he knew that.

Part of him looked forward to it, part of him didn't.

When he returned back inside the Barnes house, he swallowed down any urges he got the second he laid eyes on Bucky, ignoring the love that boiled in his chest at the sight of him. It had always been there, now that he thought about it.

The butterflies in his stomach and flutter around his heart that wasn't from his heart problem. Whenever he was around Bucky or thought of him or got a text from him or someone mentioned his name, those flutters would make an appearance and knock the breath out of him.

He was such a fucking idiot for not having realized it sooner, he decided as he sat back down with a slightly forced smile, ignoring the worried look on Bucky's face.

He pretended everything was fine the rest of the night and ignored everything he just realized. Because this was not the time nor was it the place to confess his undying love for Bucky.

Steve didn't kiss him, either. No matter how much he wanted to when they parted ways back in Brooklyn, he didn't do it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rebloggable on [tumblr](http://hoechlbutt.tumblr.com/post/154086744638).


	13. December, part one

**DECEMBER – MONTH SIX, WEEK ONE**.

The airport was crowded, people rushing back and forth and left and right in the usual December rush.

Steve, being short and easily swallowed by the mass of people, was stood on the tips of his toes and tried to make himself as tall as he possibly could, while his eyes scanned the arriving crowds for Peggy and Angie. They should have landed by now, and Steve was more than a little excited to see them.

After all, he hadn't seen them since July and fuck, did he miss them.

Angie was the first Steve noticed, dividing the crowd of people as she walked with the confidence that came with being a theater actress. She looked pretty much the same as she had several months ago, back in July, except her smile was wider and happier, and her hair was different. It was still the light brown shade with a hint of blonde, but it was shorter now, curled up to just above her shoulders and styled in a classic Peggy style.

Her outfit was covered by a heavy and expensive looking coat, and a carry-on bag hang over her shoulder, a wheeled bag being dragged behind her with her free hand. She looked good, and Steve smiled widely, as he threw his arms high up in the air in an attempt to make it easier for them to spot him.

People were moving in front of him, like the assholes New Yorkers were. Uncaring that they blocked the view of someone much shorter than them.

Angie did spot him, however, and when she did, her smile grew wider and her face lit up like a Christmas tree. She nudged someone to her right, and that was when Steve's eyes shifted and landed on Peggy.

Steve already knew the little changes Peggy had done with her appearance over the last several months of being miles apart, because Peggy liked to send him weekly selfies. Mostly up close and double chinned, because they were that close and didn't have to pretend.

But seeing her in person and getting closer and closer, well...

Steve shouldered his way past the people blocking his way, ignored the rude comment that was thrown at him, and walked quickly toward them. His smile widened impossibly more when Peggy looked his way too and smiled back.

“Never fear!” Angie called out when they were closer, her arms spreading wide and her feet moving toward him. “London is here!”

Chuckling softly, Steve rolled his eyes in mock annoyance and let himself be pulled into a hug by Angie, hugging her back just as tight. “That's not how the quote goes, Angie, and you know,” he told her, words muffled slightly by her shoulder.

Angie just laughed and squeezed him tightly, before she stepped back and smiled brightly at him. “I know, but I also know how much you liked that movie in college, so suck it up, Brooklyn.”

Steve huffed at her, his smile never faltering as he shook his head slightly. He had missed her. Despite all the teasing and all the bad jokes and the future impromptu singalongs, Steve had missed her a whole fucking ton, and it was good to see her again.

His attention was pulled away from Angie, however, when there was a pointed cough to his left, and he turned to see Peggy standing there, brow quirked and a smile on her red lips. “What, is Angie the only one getting hugged here?” she asked, her tone teasing and light.

Steve was over by her in a second, wrapping his arms around her and resting his head on her shoulder as she hugged him back. This hug was tighter and longer, and Steve didn't want to let go. Peggy didn't seem to want to either, because a minute passed and neither of them moved. Angie didn't complain either, she just cooed at them and patted them both on the head.

“I missed you, Carter,” mumbled Steve into her warm coat.

“I missed you too, Rogers,” Peggy whispered back. Her arms tightened around him momentarily, before she let go and lightly nudged him to let go as well. However, neither of them stepped away and only parted far enough to look at each other, equally happy smiles on their faces.

The spell was broken quickly, though, because then a teasing glint appeared in Peggy's eyes, and she grinned and said, “I love your hat, by the way.”

Steve blinked twice, then remembered which hat he was wearing and groaned. Stepping back and away from Peggy, he reached up and pulled off the dumb, neon pink hat Bucky had gotten for him when the temperature had started dropping. “Shut up,” he grumbled as he ran a hand through his hat hair.

“Oh please.” Peggy snatched the hat from Steve's hand and put it back on him, tugging it down below his ears. “I think it's sweet that your boyfriend gets you a screaming pink hat to keep you warm.”

“Bucky isn't my boyfriend, Pegs,” Steve reminded her for the billionth time, letting her adjust the hat on his head without fighting it and without complaining about it.

“Maybe not yet,” Peggy said with a teasing smile.

Steve scowled at her, sending her a warning glare that he knew did nothing to her. She had become immune to his warning looks over the years, apparently. Sometimes that was nice, but most of the time it wasn't. One of the times it wasn't was when it came to the whole Bucky Thing.

Ever since Steve had told her he was in love with him, she hadn't stopped pushing him to ask him out or, at the very least, tell him how he felt. Sometimes, she'd even tell him to suck it up and kiss him.

Steve had gotten very close to doing the latter. It had been a few days after Thanksgiving, and they had all been at Natasha's, eating whatever leftovers she and Clint had brought home from a Barton Thanksgiving. Steve had found himself alone in the kitchen with Bucky, and there had been a moment that had felt right. A moment where he could have done it, then and there.

He hadn't, and Peggy had sighed disapprovingly over the phone when he had told her later that day.

Sam had seen the whole thing and had shaken his head at him.

“Guys,” Angie cut in in the present, hefting her bag over her shoulder and grabbing her wheeled one. “Airport's getting really full now. I think it's about time we skedaddle.”

“Yes,” Peggy agreed with a nod, and Steve moved to grab one of their bags. “We are going to that diner you told us about, right, Steve? Because I am quite famished.”

Steve nodded and followed the two of them out of the airport, shouldering their way through the crowd of people. “Yeah, we're meeting up with Sam and Riley,” he said, then paused for a moment before he added, “and Clint, Natasha, and Bucky, too.”

He didn't see because he was looking ahead of them, but he knew the two of them shared a look – probably a knowing grin too, if he knew them as well as he did. So he quickly looked over his shoulder, narrowed his eyes at them, and warned, “You two better behave.”

“Of course,” Peggy said immediately, while Angie said, “Oh, always.”

Steve didn't believe them for a second.

**[** … **]**

Snow covered the busy streets of Brooklyn, slowly falling down from the gray sky and landing on the pavements and roads. Snowflakes lay undisturbed for barely a second, before they were trampled down by rushing Christmas shoppers.

The streets outside were decorated for Christmas, as they had been for over a month now. Halloween out, Christmas in – as it was every year. Stores and diners and parks too, covered in Christmas lights and fake snowmen and whatever else was Christmas-y.

Unlike most of Brooklyn, however, the Maximoff diner was decorated for Hanukkah, since Wanda and Pietro were both proudly Jewish.

The windows to the diner were slightly fogged, the diner much warmer than the outside weather. While their air-condition had been shitty before Clint had gotten his hands on it – that was a lie, he had called Tony about a month ago and made him fix it – the Maximoff twins had a working heater, and it was very much appreciated by anyone searching for a warm shelter and good food.

“If you don't stop shaking that leg, I'm gonna cut it off of you.”

Blinking, Bucky pulled himself out of his daze and looked away from the Christmas shoppers outside. He turned to look at Sam sitting next to him, Sam's eyes narrowed and jaw set with annoyance. Bucky's leg had stopped bouncing the moment he had turned and without taking his eyes off of Sam, he started bouncing it again. Pointedly and even more than before.

Sam gave him all of one second, before he pounced on him, shoving him against the window. Bucky grunted and shoved his hand – the right one – into Sam's face, pushing him away. But Sam didn't budge, and Bucky kicked him under the table.

“Who thought it was a good idea to let those two knuckleheads sit next to each other?” he heard Natasha ask somewhere to the left of the table, the sound of plates and glass being put down on it barely making it above the sound of Sam and Bucky fighting.

“Told you they'd get like this,” Clint sighed from the other side of the table, although his amusement was clear in his voice. Bucky didn't see, but he knew this was being recorded.

“Get offa me!” Bucky yelled, shoving at Sam with both of his hands now, the left grabbing at the front of his shirt and pushing against his chest.

“Not before I cut off your damn leg!” Sam yelled back and shoved his hand in Bucky's face. Bucky grunted, maybe growled a little, and bit down on his hand. Sam yelped and leaned heavier onto him. “You're dead, Barnes!”

They wrestled for only a minute longer – both of them accidentally kicking Clint under the table more than once and hearing him yelp, and Bucky got his face smushed against the cool window – before the end of a crutch hit them both on the back.

“I leave for one minute to take a leak, and you two start acting like five year olds,” Riley said as they scooted apart, both of them glaring at each other.

Bucky stuck his tongue out at Sam, because he was a mature adult.

“Sam, move,” Riley ordered, nudging Sam's leg with one of his crutches. “I'm gonna sit between you, and you two are gonna behave like the adults you are.”

Scoffing and tugging a strand of hair loose from Bucky's ponytail (because Sam was as mature as Bucky was) Sam scooted out of the booth and then back in after Riley had maneuvered into it, sitting between them like a barrier.

“There,” said Riley, patting them both on the top of their heads. “That's much better.”

“Yeah, I guess,” grumbled Sam, arms crossed and head pointedly turned away from Bucky.

Bucky just grumbled incoherently and redid his hair. Carefully though, because his hair liked to get stuck in his Stark prosthetic hand, and boy was that fun to find out the first time. When his hair was done and back in its ponytail – slightly messier than the first one but still good enough, he assumed – he crossed his arms too, huffed, and looked back out the window.

Natasha snorted from where she was sat next to Clint on the other side of the table, and she said, “You are such babies.”

A minute passed of Bucky just staring out the window, carefully watching the passerbyers, while the others started talking. Five more passed, before he saw the person he was looking for, which was when he perked up, sullen and grumpy mood forgotten.

Steve was wearing the neon pink hat he had gotten him a while ago, a thin layer of snow laying on the top of it, decorating it and calming the neon part of it just a little. His nose was a little red, hands buried deep in the pockets of his jacket, and there was a wide smile on his lips as he laughed.

Bucky smiled quietly to himself, as he watched him get nearer and nearer. He watched him so closely, that he didn't even see the two women walking hand in hand next to him. Not until Steve held the door to the diner open for them and they stepped inside.

“What a gentleman,” he heard one of them say, her accent thick and English. Steve had told him all about his friends from London, so he knew instantly that that was Peggy, which meant that the woman who came into view first was Angie.

Bucky moved to get out of the booth so he could go greet them properly like he had planned to do, but all he did was scoot one inch and right into Riley. “Hey, scoot,” he told him, nudging him with his elbow.

“Nu uh, I already sat down, Bucky,” Riley said, and Bucky saw Sam fly out of his seat on the other side of him. “I am not moving until we're leaving, unless it's for a pee break.”

Bucky whined, Clint threw a fry at him, and Bucky kicked him under the table. He considered, for just a moment, to jump over the back of the booth, but he knew both Pietro and Wanda would kick the living shit out of him if he got boot prints on their seating places, so he just turned around and looked at Sam embracing Peggy in a friendly hug.

“How was the flight?” Sam asked as he let go of Peggy and moved over to hug Angie, who enthusiastically threw her arms around him. Sam chuckled and hugged her tighter, lifting her momentarily.

“Oh, it was horrible,” said Peggy, a small smile on her red lips. “I think there were at least five babies on board, all screaming their hearts out at every little turbulence.”

“I slept through the whole thing,” Angie said, a proud smile on her lips when she and Sam stepped apart.

Sam snickered and said, “Of course you did,” and then Bucky looked away from the three of them, because Steve was walking over toward him, a smile on his lips. Steve reached up to pull off the pink hat and ran a hand through his tussled hair.

Bucky wanted to do the same with his own hand. Several times, too.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said, and he scooted between their booth and the one next to it go get around it.

Bucky turned to him a bit more and rose to his knees, before he reached out and pulled Steve in for a quick half hug, that was more awkward than nice. Bucky had the booth's back digging into his stomach, Steve had it digging into his chest, but neither let go for another second or two.

“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky greeted back and offered him a smile when they parted. He glanced over to where Sam was guiding the two women over toward them. “You gonna introduce me to your friends, or what?”

“Wow, Buck, you're so patient,” Steve said flatly and laid the hat on top of Bucky's head. He didn't even put it on properly, just laid it there, the back of it resting on the elastic keeping Bucky's hair in a ponytail.

Bucky said nothing, just made a face at him and plucked the hat from the top of his head and carefully placed it on the table. He turned back around just as Sam arrived at the booth with Peggy and Angie.

“Guys,” Steve started, walking back out between the two booths. “This is Clint, Natasha, and Bucky,” he introduced, gesturing to each of them when he said their names. Natasha offered them both a smile (a real one, to Bucky's surprise) and Clint smiled widely and toothily at both of them, while Bucky only gave them a hesitant and maybe a little nervous smile.

He couldn't help it, though. Peggy was an important person to Steve, and Bucky wanted to make a good impression on her. He wasn't always good at that, especially not after his head got all screwed up.

“You already know Sam and Riley,” Steve continued, said men lifting their hands in a silent greeting. “Guys,” he turned and smiled at the two women. “This is Peggy and Angie.”

There was a chorus of, “Hey,” from around the table, and both Peggy and Angie smiled back at them. Bucky couldn't help but notice their gazes lingering on him for a second longer than the others, and he squirmed nervously in his seat.

Sam sat back by Riley's side, and Angie sat down next to him, while Steve sat down next to Natasha and Peggy sat on his other side. It was a tight fit, but they made it work.

“Natasha,” Peggy said as she made herself comfortable, leaning forward just slightly to look at Natasha, who looked back with a smile that turned professional. “Romanoff, correct?”

“Wait, you know her?” Steve asked before Bucky could.

“We've met,” Natasha answered with a casual shrug and a polite nod toward Peggy. “Once or twice. That happens when you both work in the government.”

Bucky huffed and muttered, “Spies.”

Both Clint and Angie hummed their agreement, while the rest of the table rolled their eyes. Sam even sighed and looked heavenward, and Bucky wanted to kick him but he couldn't. Instead, he just shot him a dirty look.

Pietro came rolling over on his heelies then, a friendly smile in place. “Good evening, ladies,” he said with a nod to Peggy and Angie. “And Steve. What can I get you?”

Steve ordered just something to drink, despite Bucky sending him a look from across the table. Angie ordered a sandwich, while Peggy ordered nearly half the goddamn menu. Bucky gaped at her without even realizing it.

Which Angie saw, and she snorted and said, “She eats a ton, this is normal.”

“Remember when she ate all the food we had in college?” Steve reminisced with a chuckle, a smile on his lips.

“It was exams,” Peggy argued with a shrug. “I can't be held responsible for what I did around that time.”

“Like falling asleep on me when we were trying to get frisky,” Angie muttered, and Bucky snorted while Steve hummed, obviously having heard that before.

“Oh hey, you've done that too,” said Riley, turning to Sam.

Bucky blinked and slowly, inch by inch, he leaned forward until he could see Sam, and a shit-eating grin slowly curled his lips upward. Oh, he was not going to let this go for a long, long time.

Sam glared at first Riley, then at Bucky and pointed a warning finger at him. “I will beat you, Barnes, don't think I won't.”

Riley sighed and tilted his head back to look heavenward, like a tired parent having to deal with two stubborn and asshole kids. “If you two don't stop, _I_ will beat the both of you.”

“Are they fighting again?” Steve asked, while Bucky stuck his tongue out at Sam and Sam made a face in return, both of them crossing their arms and huffing like the little kids they were acting like.

Yes, Bucky was aware they were acting like kids. He wasn't stopping, though. Sam wasn't either.

“Bucky started the day out grumpy,” explained Clint, words slightly muffled by his full mouth. “Sam poked the bear first thing.” He chuckled, then added, “You should have seen them before you came, it was hilarious. Oh, wait.” He shifted and dug his phone out, then leaned over Natasha to show Steve the video he had taken of Sam and Bucky wrestling only a short while ago.

Peggy leaned over and shot a glance at the video playing, an amused grin curling at the corner of her lips. “They do that a lot?” she questioned no one in particular.

“Only on the days that end with y,” Natasha answered without taking her eyes off of the video.

“It's not my fault Sam's a fuckin' asshole,” Bucky grumbled low. Mostly to himself, but apparently Sam heard him, because there was a hand smacking the back of his head a second later, and he turned to glare at him. “Careful, Wilson.”

“Oh yeah, I'm so scared of you,” Sam said dryly and rolled his eyes.

Bucky fumed for all of two seconds, before he moved to lunge across Riley, only to have Riley shove him back down. “I'm gonna sic Natasha on the two of you!” he said loudly, and Bucky saw Natasha shake her head a little out of the corner of his eye.

With a huff, Bucky leaned heavily back against the cool window and took his eyes off of Sam. Instead, they drifted to the other side of the table and landed on Steve. Steve who was watching him with a worried crease between his brows. Slowly, Bucky smiled reassuringly at him, and the crease faded away little by little.

“So Angie,” Natasha said, turning away from Clint, when he started thumbing through his phone. “I hear you're getting big on the theater scene.”

And just like that, the tension eased and the conversation flew easily. Pietro arrived with Angie and Peggy's food, and Peggy offered some of hers to Steve. Steve refused, of course he did, and Bucky opened his mouth to tell him to eat anyway, but Peggy beat him to it.

It was then that it hit him.

Peggy was Steve's best friend first. Not him. Jealousy flared in his chest, he couldn't help it. He didn't want to feel jealous, especially not since he knew they hadn't seen each other in months and would probably be clingy to each other until they parted ways again, and he wanted to give them the space to do that.

But he did feel jealous anyway, because he was selfish and wanted Steve's attention on him and only him.

He slumped back against the back of the booth and slid down the seat just a little, eyes falling to under the table where his fingers – both metal and flesh-and-bone – were fiddling with the hem of his shirt, his shoulders sagging a little.

He didn't hear the last five minutes of the conversation going on around the table, too caught up in his own mind and frowning downward. But then a foot knocked against his own under the table – once, twice, three times – and he looked up, locking eyes with Steve.

Steve send him a quick and unsure smile, as he mouthed, “Are you okay?” while the conversation never stopped around them.

But for a moment, it was just him and Steve, and Bucky nodded slowly in reply, returning Steve's smile crookedly.

Steve kept his foot pressed against Bucky's under the table for the duration of their meal. Bucky sunk further down in his seat, heat pooling in his cheeks but he ignored it and focused on the weight pressed against the side of his boot instead.

After Pietro heelied his way back over and cleared their table, they decided it was time to head out.

“We should go get ahead of the jet lag, after all,” Peggy said as she slid out of the booth, Steve followed close behind. “Wouldn't want to get our sleep schedule completely messed up.”

Natasha hopped up on Clint's back after the two of them had slid out from the booth as well. Clint barely even reacted other than swinging an arm around her to keep her there, even though her arms circled loosely around his neck and her legs wrapped around his middle, securing her there.

Bucky rolled his eyes at them and slid out after Riley had gotten to his feet, crutches supporting some of his weight. He moved to follow the rest of the group to the doors, but a hand grabbed his elbow and held him back. Craning his head around, he saw Peggy looking at him with that protective look he knew so well by now.

Claire, Sam, Riley, and even Clint had all given him variations of the same look over the last several months, after all.

“Steve is a good man,” Peggy started once they were out of earshot from the others.

Bucky blinked and slowly said, “He is, yeah.”

“He's a good man,” Peggy repeated, gaze firm and almost stern on Bucky, and Bucky swallowed nervously. “He's been through Hell his entire life, and he deserves only the best.”

Bucky stared at her. It took him a moment to realize what this was. “Is this the shovel talk?” he asked. “Peggy, you know Steve and I aren't dating, right? We're just best friend.” Even though he wanted, so badly, to be something else. Something less platonic.

Peggy's smile appeared slowly, and Bucky wasn't sure if she looked smug or unconvinced or knowing. “All I want you to know is that if you hurt him, no one will ever find your body. Treat him right, and we won't have a problem. Sergeant Barnes.”

With that, she squeezed his shoulder and swaggered away and over to her girlfriend, slipping her arm through hers as they exited together. Steve was standing on the other side of the window, a confused look on his face and eyes flickering from Peggy to Bucky.

Bucky stared, and maybe gaped a little, after her for several long and drawn out seconds, before a smile slowly appeared on his lips.

He liked her, he decided in that moment. She was protective of Steve, so of course he did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rebloggable on [tumblr](http://hoechlbutt.tumblr.com/post/154086744638).


	14. December, part two

**DECEMBER – MONTH SIX, WEEK TWO**.

The song started out with the sound of drumsticks tapping together once, twice, three times, followed by a bassy tune playing along with the heavy sound of the drums.

“ _Open Sesame_ ,” Angie sang along with the lead singer, spinning around to face the rest of the room again.

“ _We've places to see_ ,” both Steve and Peggy sang under their breaths from the couch, Steve's eyes not leaving his sketchbook as he drew and Peggy turning her body to look at her girlfriend.

Angie moved her body slowly and rhythmically, dancing across the floor in her socked feet and moving to the song, as she kept singing. “ _We've people to see_.”

“ _Let's put 'em on hold_ ,” Steve sang back and put down his pencil, while Peggy chuckled and settled back on the couch, eyes glued to Angie dancing.

“ _There's all sorts of shapes I bet you can make_ ,” Angie sang, looking back at Peggy. “ _When you had to escape, say the word_.” She moved around the couch, hips swaying in tact with the beat and a smile on her lips which Peggy returned easily. Steve just leaned back and watched them.

“ _Well, I know getting you alone isn't easy to do_ ,” Angie continued. “ _But with the exception of you_ ,” she lifted her arm and pointed at Peggy, “ _I dislike everyone in the room_.” Steve scoffed in mocked offense, and Angie patted his head as she moved past him. “ _And I don't wanna lie, but I wanna tell you the truth. Get the sense that you're on the move, and you'll probably be leaving soon. So I'm telling you._ ”

She moved over and leaned slightly over Peggy, both of them smiling widely at each other as the distance shortened between them. “ _Stop the world 'cause I wanna_ ,” Angie sang softly, leaning closer and closer, “ _get off with you._ ”

“Alright,” Steve said loudly over the music just as Peggy grabbed the front of Angie's shirt and pulled her in to slot their lips together in a firm kiss, the song continuing in the background. “I'm not gonna be an awkward third wheel in my own apartment, guys.”

He heard Angie giggling, but they didn't stop kissing, so he rolled his eyes and reached over to grab a pillow from his end of the couch. He threw it at them, and it bounced off of Angie's side and landed softly on the floor.

Peggy pulled away, while Angie laughed and crawled into Peggy's lap. “You and Thor can be third wheeling together when he gets here,” Peggy said, an arm around Angie as she made herself comfortable.

“Or,” Angie drawled, resting her head against Peggy's. “We could tell Thor to bring Jane, and you could invite Bucky over, and it'd be a triple date.”

Steve narrowed his eyes at her, and she smiled sweetly back.

Peggy chuckled and said, “Unfortunately, Jane is apparently in Holland for some science conference. But speaking of Bucky,” she turned to Steve, and Steve threw his head back with a groan. “He seems like a good guy, Steve. Grumpy, but I'm sure he's all soft and cuddly on the inside. At least, that's what I gathered from the way he looks at you.”

Steve flushed. Bucky looked at him as a friend would. Although, sometimes...

Sometimes there were times where Steve thought he saw something else flicker in Bucky's eyes when he turned and met his eye. Sometimes, it felt like Bucky might even return his feelings, even just a little bit, but when did life ever throw him a bone? When did life ever treat him that kindly?

Besides, there was still something Steve hadn't told Bucky yet – something that could change everything, and Steve feared that if Bucky did feel the same way, even if it was just a little, that little would wash away the second Steve came out to him. Wouldn't be the first time, after all.

He didn't say that to Peggy and Angie, however, because he knew what they would do and say. Peggy would smack him over the head and Angie would list all the reasons why Steve was great and deserved only the best. Peggy would join in halfway through and Steve would groan at them until they stopped and embraced him in a hug.

He didn't need to be reassured, he was fine. Heartbroken and pining for Bucky, sure, but he was fine.

He didn't get to say anything in return either, because then there was a loud series of knocks on the front door, and all three of them turned to look in that direction.

Angie smiled widely and flew out of Peggy's lap before either of them could move. She took off running toward the door and swung it open, before the next series of knocks could start. And the second the door opened, she jumped up and threw her arms around Thor's neck in a welcoming and friendly hug.

Thor laughed and only just managed to maneuver the take-out bags of food balanced on his one arm out of the way before she jumped on him. He wrapped his free arm around her and hugged her back. “Angela!” he exclaimed, squeezing her as she chuckled. “It is good to see you again, my friend!”

Angie smiled widely up at him after she was put down, socked feet back on the ground. “Right back at'cha,” she said, then reached out to put a hand flat on Thor's chest. “Wow, I didn't think it was possible to get more buff, yet here you are.”

Steve snorted, and Peggy stood up from the couch. “Angie,” she warned and walked over. There was a slight amusement in the edge of her voice, Steve noted. “You don't hit on a soon-to-be married man.”

“Not when you've got the best girl, you don't,” Angie agreed easily and stepped over to kiss her girlfriend on the lips, just a quick peck. After leaning into it for a second, Peggy wandered over and accepted the hug that Thor offered her with his arms spread wide.

“You look well, Margaret,” Thor said, his voice not booming but soft as they hugged. When they parted, Thor stepped inside and Peggy closed the door.

Steve still wasn't up to his feet, still lazing on the couch. Getting up meant escaping the cocoon of blankets he was wrapped around in, and he wasn't much up for that, at the moment. The apartment air was chilly, and he had been shivering before Peggy had wrapped him in the blankets and Angie had wrapped herself around him to provide extra heat for a little while.

“Do I really need to remind you that it's Peggy, Thor?” Peggy asked, reaching out for one of the smaller bags of take-out.

Thor let her take it and followed both her and Angie further into the apartment, toward the living room area. “Not at all. Margaret just suits you well, and you don't seem to dislike it as much anyway.”

Peggy's answer came in a noncommittal hum, the bag in her arm already opened and fries being shoved into her mouth. Steve rolled his eyes at her and snorted. It was so typical of her to go straight for the food and forgo all conversation she had started in favor of stuffing her mouth.

Steve took his eyes off of Peggy, when Thor came over and crouched down in front of him. “Are you not well, Steve?” he asked, concern in his voice and obvious on his face.

Rolling his eyes, Steve pushed away the hand that reached up toward his forehead. “I'm fine, Thor. It's just cold, that's all.”

“Well then.” Thor stood back up, smile back on his face as he held up the take-out bags. “That is nothing a good, warm fast food meal can't fix.”

Steve chuckled and reached out to take the offered take-out bag, setting it on his lap after placing his sketchbook on the coffee table, forgetting all about finishing the sketch of Peggy lounging on the couch for the time being. Instead, he made himself comfortable against the arm of the couch, the other three sitting down as well, all of them with a bag each.

It was just like back in college, Steve realized as Peggy sneaked a hand over to steal a handful of Angie's fries before stuffing them into her mouth, not caring that Angie was narrowing her eyes at her.

Thor throwing his head back and letting out a loud and booming laughter reminded him of college too, the sound of it so loud he almost had to turn down his hearing aid, but instead he just laughed along with him and only winced a little.

It was nice. This – just spending time with the first few people he could actually call his friends. The people who carried him through a ton of shit during their college years and the years after.

Shit like getting horribly ill and having to spend a month in the hospital. All three of them had stopped by with assignments and helped him back on his feet when he was well enough to get out.

And shit like losing his mom. They had all been there – Sam and Riley, too – when it had happened the year before. It had been rough, and Steve hadn't wanted to live, but they had helped. And Steve was grateful to have them in his lives even after all of those years.

Back when they had graduated from college and Peggy and Angie announced they were going to move to London, Steve had feared they'd lose contact. He was so fucking grateful they hadn't, and that it could still be as easy as it was now. Like they hadn't been apart for even a day, despite having been apart for months.

Steve forgot all about the cool air in the apartment, when Thor threw his arm around his blanketed shoulders, fast food warm in his belly and warm in his hands.

Steve's phone buzzed on the coffee table, just as Angie asked Thor about his and Jane's upcoming wedding – they had decided on a date, but invitations had yet to be send out. Steve placed his food back on the plate in his lap, reached over to grab his phone, and opened the message from Bucky with a little smile curling at his lips.

> **[04:13 PM] Jerk** : can i crash ur college reunion party

His initial thought was to say yes, immediately and always. There was never a time where he didn't want Bucky around, always wanted him right next to him if that were possible. Even if they just sat in silence and enjoyed each other's presence, that was fine with him. Perfect, even.

But he hesitated, because there were other people around him now. He could tell, from that short text, that something was up with Bucky – be it bad mood, bad appointment with Stark, whatever. But Bucky knew he had people over and apparently didn't mind it, so that wasn't a problem.

The problem was his friends and their meddling habits.

“Guys,” he started, cutting into the conversation about Thor's bachelor party. “Bucky wants to come over. Wait, I'm not done,” he quickly added when Peggy opened her mouth. She let out a small huff, but nodded at him to proceed a second later. “I'm gonna tell him he can come, but I don't think he's in a great mood, so maybe lay off of him, okay?”

Peggy and Angie nodded, and Thor beamed at him and said, “I would be honored to finally meet your Bucky.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “He's not _my_ Bucky,” he muttered quietly. All of them gave him an unconvinced and unimpressed look. He flushed, flipped them off, and texted Bucky back.

< **[04:17 PM] Steve** : Only if you don't mind meeting Thor.

> **[04:18 PM] Jerk** : i get to meet the dude who does all the cool art on u how terrible

Steve rolled his eyes at the dry sarcasm seeping out of the text, and he went to type in a reply, but a single knock on the door stopped him. One knock, then nothing. The Bucky Is Here knock. He blinked, then slowly moved to stand up from the couch and wrapped the blanket around him like a cape.

Sure enough, when he opened the door, Bucky was standing there. His hair was loose, hanging lightly over his shoulders, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He looked completely exhausted, and Steve wanted to hug him. Kiss him too, maybe.

“Were you just waiting outside my door?” Steve asked, the smile forming on his lips soft instead of teasing.

Bucky shrugged, the corner of his lips tugging back just a little in an almost smile. “Got my own key, Stevie. Don't need to wait, I can just walk right in.” He shook his head and continued, “I was gonna go to Sam and Riley's 'cause you've got guests,” he gestured to behind Steve, where Steve knew the three of them were watching them intently, “but they're either not home or they're banging, and I ain't about to walk into that.”

Steve huffed out a light chuckle. “Understandable,” he said and stepped aside to let Bucky in. “I wouldn't wanna see that mess happen either.”

“Says the guy who hit on Sam at first meeting,” mumbled Bucky as he walked past him. Steve shot him a dirty look and closed the door behind him.

Thor was the first to approach them, his smile big and wide and his eyes locked onto Bucky. “Bucky!” he greeted him and held out a hand. Bucky didn't take it, so Thor curled his hand into a fist, and Bucky slowly raised his own – the prosthetic one – and knocked knuckles with him, just a light tap. “It is an honor to finally meet you. I've heard a lot about you.”

A small and tired smile formed on Bucky's lips, as his hand slid back into his pocket. “Heard a lot 'bout you too. I'm a big fan of the ink you've done on Stevie.”

Steve was positive he heard Peggy whisper, “Stevie?” to Angie, both because he knew her well enough to know she would notice that, and also because he was sure he saw her mouthing it.

“I have done some of my best work on Steve,” Thor said and reached out to clasp a hand on Steve's shoulder. “I am thankful that he continues to let me use his body as a canvas.”

“Well, who can say no to mostly free tattoos,” Steve said with a shrug, one that was supposed to rustle Thor's hand off of his shoulder but it just stayed there. However, Thor gave his shoulder a quick squeeze a moment later, and then the hand slid away.

Steve ended up with Bucky plastered to his side for the rest of the day. And maybe, Steve turned a bit and leaned his back against Bucky's chest somewhere along the day, and maybe Bucky put his arm on the back of the couch behind Steve, but no one made a comment on it.

Peggy only looked at them, smiled softly, and gave Steve a knowing look. A look that Steve returned with a narrowed one of his own.

Bucky didn't contribute much to the conversation, stayed a silent and cuddly cat throughout the whole thing. Angie tried to coerce him into it at one point and for a second it looked like it worked. But then Bucky fell silent again.

Steve put a hand on his knee and squeezed, and he could feel Bucky lose the tension in his body a minute later. Steve kept his hand there.

Thor left first, then Angie and Peggy left to go back to their hotel. Peggy hugged him and whispered into his good ear, “Go for it.” She left with an encouraging thumbs up and a suggestive wink, and Steve blushed furiously, before he went back to the couch.

Steve didn't go for it, though. He told himself, over and over again, just say fuck it and go for it, like Peggy had told him to.

Like when Bucky reheated some of the leftovers from the college squad's reunion lunch and disgustingly chewed in his face, after Steve called him gross. Or when Bucky stuck his stinking feet under Steve's sketchbook and into his lap, wiggling until he was comfortable. Or when Bucky snuggled up close behind him and rested his head on his shoulder.

Steve didn't do it, even though the urge was strong and the opportunities were there over and over again. But he did end up with Bucky fast asleep on his shoulder, and that was close enough if you asked him.

**[** … **]**

The hardest part of Peggy and Angie living in London wasn't the miles they spend apart on a daily basis. It wasn't the time difference, it wasn't the sporadic communications, it wasn't any of that.

No, the hardest part was saying goodbye after spending a week or two, occasionally three, together.

It was hard the first time, it was hard the second and the third time, and it continued to be hard every single time. It never got easier, never got less heartbreaking, never got less emotional, no matter how long or how short the time until their next visit was. Steve never got used to the whole saying goodbye thing, and he doubted he ever would.

This time was no different than any of the previous ones – than any of the future ones, as well.

Steve said goodbye to Peggy and Angie at the airport on the thirteenth. Both of them embraced him in tight hugs, which were returned with no hesitation. All three of them ignored the mass of people walking around them, both arriving and boarding. All three of them were too focused on each other – Steve on them, them on Steve – to care that they were in the way.

Angie was the one to tear up first, when their flight was called to for the last time. With a sniffling huff, she reached out and took him in her arms once more, hugging him tightly. “I'm gonna miss you, Brooklyn,” she whispered into his good ear.

“I'm gonna miss you too, Ange,” Steve whispered back, wrapping his arms tightly around her.

When they parted again, they smiled at each other, both smiles a little watery and tight. Peggy looked the most together, but Steve could spot the small tears making her eyes shiny from the small distance between them.

“Have a safe flight,” he told them. Peggy kissed his cheek, then grabbed Angie's hand and left to board their plane.

Steve stood in the busy airport and looked after them for longer than was really necessary.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rebloggable on [tumblr](http://hoechlbutt.tumblr.com/post/154086744638).


	15. December, part three

**DECEMBER – MONTH SIX, WEEK THREE**.

Steve spend Christmas on his own.

Thor and Jane flew to Norway to spend it with Thor's family. The rest were a bit of a repeat of Thanksgiving; Sam and Riley spend it with Sam's family, Clint and Natasha spend the holidays with Clint's brother, and Bucky spend it with his family.

Bucky told him he was welcome to join in on the Barnes holiday traditions. Both of his parents were Christians – as was Becca, while Bucky had lost all sense of religion over the years and considered himself nothing – but none of them were practicing. Their Christmases, apparently, weren't as Christmas-y as you'd think. Aunts and uncles and nieces and nephews were always invited.

“It's a bit of a circus show, some years,” Bucky had told him, when he had come over to convince Steve to come along.

Steve had said no, though. He had intruded on the Barnes family on Thanksgiving, he couldn't do it on Christmas too. No matter if what they celebrated was Christmas or the Barnes Circus Holiday.

Sam invited him to the Wilson household too, Riley nodding along behind him like an encouragement. Steve loved the Wilsons, and he knew they always had an endless amount of fun around Christmas. He had thanked them and said no, however.

To his surprise, Natasha invited him along to Clint's brother's place, too. Steve didn't know Clint's brother, only that his name was Barney. He didn't know what the situation with Clint's family was either – Clint never talked about it, always stirred away from it when family was brought up – and he didn't know what Natasha's deal was either.

Not anything more than what Bucky had told him, and that wasn't much either. “She's from Russia, but she left all that and her family behind when she came here,” he'd said. “Honestly, it's best to just not talk about it. She doesn't like to, anyway.”

Seemed like they were all damaged in their own ways.

Albeit curious to learn more about Clint, Natasha too, Steve had said no thank you to the offer and wished them both a happy holiday, told them to tell that to Barney as well. Before leaving, Clint threw a present at him; a shield pin that he had wrapped clumsily in news paper and painted to look like the one Captain America had. Steve pinned it to his messenger bag after punching Clint's shoulder.

So Steve spend Christmas by himself for the second year in a row.

Unlike the year before where he was too depressed to go anywhere or even leave his bed, he decided to drag himself out of bed earlier than he usually would and go to mass. Steve was raised catholic but didn't particularly considered himself to be catholic, nor had he been to church since his mom got sick, and he had only gone then to spend time with her.

This year, he went to feel closer to her. And after, he visited her grave and put some fresh flowers by it. He didn't cry, only smiled a bit sadly as he rested a gloved hand on her snow covered tombstone.

The rest of the day was spend on the couch, curled up in a warm blanket with a cup of hot chocolate in his hands while he watched whatever holiday movie was on at the time. He made himself dinner right as he heard someone on the street below sing slurred Christmas songs, and he ate it by his drawing board as he put the finishing touches on Bucky's present.

Some would probably call his Christmas sad and depressing. But honestly, it wasn't all that bad.

His phone was buzzing with texts from his friends – from Thor and Jane in Norway, from Bucky in Indiana with the Barnes', from Natasha and Clint with Lucky and Barney and a couple of girls he didn't recognize (America and Kate, according to the text that followed the photo), from Sam and Riley with the Wilsons, and from Peggy and Angie in London – almost every hour, so it wasn't all that lonely.

It wasn't sad or depressing either, because he didn't feel sad or depressed. Not until night fell and the sudden, overwhelming feeling of missing his ma and knowing he was completely alone crushed him.

Steve curled up under his covers in bed and allowed himself to break.

**[** … **]**

**DECEMBER – MONTH SIX, WEEK FOUR**.

A knock on his door pulled Steve out of his drawing haze. He blinked a few times as his mind cleared of the fog and his hand stilled on the paper laid out in front of him. The knock came again, with more force and a few more times than previous, and he let out a heavy sigh as he set down his pencil and moved to get up from the chair.

Sam was on the other side, when Steve opened the door. He was looking at him with raised brows and his arms crossed, that look on his face that Steve only knew as his judgmental and disappointed one. The one he had been on the receiving end of more times than he could count over the years of knowing the guy.

“Shit,” Steve cursed when he realized why he was getting that look, and he winced and cringed. “What time is it?”

“Way past the time you said you'd be there,” Sam answered, brows crawling further up his forehead. “Everyone else has arrived already, I was starting to worry you were gonna bail on me.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you bailing on me, Rogers?”

“No!” Steve exclaimed immediately, a hand shooting out. “Sam, come on, you know I wouldn't bail on your holiday get-together.”

“Then why the hell are you an hour late?”

Steve sighed and scratched the back of his neck, his head ducking slightly. “I got distracted.”

“Distracted,” repeated Sam, flatly.

“Yes, distracted. I was drawing and I just sort of,” Steve shrugged a shoulder, “got into the zone and lost track of time. I'm sorry. I'll be right over there, I promise.”

Sam hummed, his eyes drifting downward momentarily before they snapped back to him. The Look had disappeared, so Steve let out a breath of relief.

“Be there in five minutes or you're not getting any of my food and you can kiss your present goodbye,” Sam said, turning slightly back toward his own door.

“I'll be there in four,” Steve promised, moving to close his door.

“And put some damn pants on!” Sam called over his shoulder just as he opened his door, and Steve groaned when he heard laughter come from the inside of the apartment.

Three minutes and fifty-five seconds later, Steve locked the door to his apartment and went over to open the door to Sam's, a bag slung over his shoulder and pants covering his legs. Sam was in the kitchen and when the door opened, he turned and gave Steve a smile.

“Looks like you'll be getting food after all, huh,” he said and turned back around. Whatever he was cooking smelled amazing and was going to taste better, Steve knew from experience.

“Wouldn't wanna miss out on the Sam Wilson holiday dinner,” said Steve as he stepped further inside, putting his bag by the door where everyone else's bags were leaning against the wall. “You only get it once a year, it'd be a shame to miss it.”

“You're damn right,” Sam said with a firm nod.

Bucky came walking into the kitchen area then, hair pulled into a messy bun that looked Clint made and prosthetic arm off, his sleeve clipped up to the metal one. “Hey, Stevie,” he greeted, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve greeted back and like a magnet, he walked over and wrapped his arms around him, the hug returned instantly. He felt Bucky's nose bury itself in the mess of his hair, heard him breathe in softly, and he smiled privately. “You have a good circus holiday?” he asked as he took half a step back.

Bucky rolled his eyes and sighed. “It was wild,” he said, nearly whined. “Becca decided it was a good idea to bring her new boyfriend over, and my parents interrogated the guy all day long. Almost felt bad for him.”

“And let me guess,” Steve said, letting himself be turned toward the living room area. “You were the overprotective big brother who gave him an even harder time.”

“I'll have you know I was very nice to him,” Bucky said with a short nod. “Only threatened to bury him alive once.”

Steve raised an unconvinced brow at him, and Bucky mumbled, “Okay, maybe three times.”

Steve let out an amused huff and shook his head, his lips curling back into a fond smile. Fuck, he loved him. So much that his heart was pounding just from standing next to him, yet he felt calm and content and at ease.

“Did you have a good Christmas?” Bucky asked, smiling softly.

Steve paused. “Yeah, it was alright,” he lied.

Bucky's eyes narrowed slowly, obviously unconvinced because Steve was as terrible a liar as everyone told him he was. But Steve ran away from having to talk about his orphan Christmas and turned to the rest of the people, a smile on his lips as he greeted them.

Lucky was spread out on the floor, gnawing on a bone that laid between his front paws. His tail was sweeping over the floor in a slow pace, and he barely even noticed when Steve stepped into the living room area. The only acknowledgment he gave was to stop chewing for a second, his ears perking and he looked at Steve. For only a second before he went right back to gnawing.

“Don't be offended,” Clint spoke up from where he was laying in front of Lucky, watching him with the same kind of fondness he had when he looked at Natasha. His scraped chin was resting on his folded arms, and the corners of his lips were curled back into a fond smile. “When he gets a treat, he doesn't give a crap about anything else. 'Least it's not p-i-z-z-a,” he mouthed the last word as he spelled it out, turning his head toward Steve to do so.

“He's a dog,” said Natasha with a roll of her eyes. She was sitting- or rather, half laying down on the two person couch, her ankles crossed and feet resting on Clint's butt. “He can't spell.”

“You'd be surprised,” Bucky muttered as he walked in after Steve. He crouched down beside Lucky and pet his head with his hand. Lucky's tail wagged faster and there was a happy hum coming from him, his gnawing paused to enjoy the petting fully.

Dinner was served, and Steve was reminded of how much he had missed Sam's cooking the second he stuffed his mouth with it.

“Sam,” he moaned around his mouthful, eyes staying on his full plate as he pointed at it with his fork. “This is heaven. You've outdone yourself.” Bucky shifted awkwardly in the seat next to him, but he was too busy stuffing his mouth with another forkful to look at him.

It was really like eating a little piece of heaven, and Steve was going to eat until he burst and then some.

“Man,” Sam let out in a chuckle, and Steve raised his gaze to see him pointing his knife at him from across the table. “If you're gonna be fucking the food, take it to your own place.”

“And use protection,” Riley added from next to Sam, his words muffled by the mouthful of sweet potatoes he had shoveled in but clear enough.

Steve shot them both a dirty look. Clint snorted and choked on his food, and Natasha patted his back while sipping at her glass of wine. Bucky remained quiet.

When dinner was done and mostly eaten, some of the leftovers given to Lucky who happily chomped it down, they relocated to the couches and exchanged presents.

Natasha and Clint had already exchanged presents – Natasha was proudly wearing a small, silver arrow around her neck, while Clint proudly showed off the pictures of the wooden hawk he had on display in his bedroom – as had Sam and Riley, but those two kept theirs quiet and private for the time being.

When they said that, Steve lit up and looked at them with wide and excited eyes. “Did you get engaged?”

But they both snorted and shook their heads no, and Steve pouted.

Around ten, Riley went to the bedroom to get his Stark braces off, Sam went to the kitchen to do dishes with the help of Clint, and Natasha ducked out onto the fire escape after whispering something to Bucky, which left Steve and Bucky alone in the living room.

“Here,” Bucky said and handed him a box carefully wrapped in paper with snowmen printed around it, the box slightly bigger than his hand.

Steve looked from the box to Bucky. “Buck,” he said with a small shake of his head. “You didn't have to get me anything.” But he reached out and took it from Bucky's hand anyway.

Bucky gave him a flat look and said, “Right, because you obviously didn't get me anything either.” His eyes wandered pointedly to the unopened present in his lap, and Steve sighed.

“That's different,” he argued in a mumble, eyes dropping to the present in his hands.

Bucky made a noise of disagreement, then nudged his knee. “Open it.”

Steve stared down at the present for another second, before he looked at Bucky with his eyes narrowed. “It's not a whoopee cushion,” like he had gotten Clint, “or buried under a fake shit,” like he'd given Sam, “is it?”

Bucky shook his head almost immediately. “No way, Stevie. I like you a lot better than those two idiots. Ain't gonna be an ass to you.”

“That's a first,” Steve mumbled, and Bucky shoved at him.

“Just open it, will ya?”

Steve looked at Bucky with his eyes narrowed in suspicion for another moment, before he looked down at the present and opened it. He ripped the paper off of the cardboard box and tossed it at Bucky's face. Bucky caught it with a huff, and when Steve pulled the lid open, his jaw dropped.

“Bucky,” he said, breathless and stunned, as he reached into the box and pulled out the pens and pencils and erasers and colors and markers inside the box. “Buck, these are fuckin' expensive.”

He lifted his gaze, eyes wide and mouth still hanging open in a slight gape, and Bucky shrugged, a light pink color dusting over his cheekbones. “Wasn't so bad,” he said. “I asked around and those are the best, and only the best for you, punk.”

“Jerk.” Steve smiled, touched at how much trouble Bucky had gone through to find the best art supplies for him. “You're an asshole,” he said in lieu of thanking him, his tone soft.

“Yeah, well.” Bucky shrugged, returning his smile. “You love me anyway.”

Steve did. He really fucking did, but he couldn't tell him that. So he just smiled and said, “Open yours now.”

Unlike Steve, Bucky didn't hesitate to grab his present and (carefully) rip the wrapping off, a smile firmly on his lips the entire time. Until the wrapper was gone and he was looking down at what Steve had spend months on making. Bucky's smile dropped from his lips, hand gently cradling the comic.

_Cyborg Best Friend_ was written on the top of the front cover in black and red, capital letters. A man that was undoubtedly Bucky stood on a rooftop, eyes covered with a black domino mask and left arm made of metal. He wasn't wearing booty shorts, not like they'd jokenly talked about, but his outfit did consist of tight fitting clothes. And behind him, Captain America stood with his shield in front of him and a proud smile on his lips, eyes on his sidekick.

“You made me a comic book character,” Bucky whispered as his fingers lightly traced over the cover.

“Cap's best friend,” Steve said, scooting over to sit closer to him, a smile on his lips. “Just like you're mine.”

Bucky was quiet for a minute or two as he gently flipped through the first few pages of the comic. But then he leaned over to put it on the table, and he turned and pulled Steve in for a tight hug. Steve didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around him and hug him back, smiling into Bucky's shoulder when he felt Bucky's heart hammering in his chest.

“Thanks, Stevie,” Bucky whispered into his good ear, and Steve's smile softened when he felt a weight on his shoulder.

They stayed wrapped up in each other for several, long minutes. But slowly, Bucky pulled back. He didn't go very far, kept his arm wrapped around Steve, and his eyes flickered down to Steve's lips and stayed there.

Steve blushed when he noticed it, and he found himself staring back at Bucky's lips. They were slightly parted, pink and plush and so kissable, and Steve just wanted to lean in and see if they were as soft as they looked.

His heart hammering in his chest, he did. Slowly and nervously, he leaned forward. And so did Bucky.

“Get the fuck back here, Barton!”

They sprang apart when Sam's loud voice carried into the living room area and a second later, Clint came sprinting past them. Clint jumped out of the window to where Natasha was still on the fire escape, a plate of gingerbread cookies in his hand and three of them stuffed into his mouth. Sam came running after him, shouting at him.

Steve saw none of that, however. He was looking straight at the floor, his face red and heart hammering.

He nearly kissed Bucky, and Bucky nearly kissed him.

After Sam came walking back through the room with the plate of gingerbread cookies and grumbling low to himself, Steve let out a slow and deep breath and shot a tentative look toward the other side of the couch.

Only to find the seat empty and Bucky ducking out onto the fire escape with his face flaming and comic book cradled gently to his chest.

Steve threw himself back on the couch, looked up at the ceiling, and cursed quietly to himself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wELP
> 
> Rebloggable on [tumblr](http://hoechlbutt.tumblr.com/post/154086744638).


	16. December, part four

**DECEMBER – MONTH SIX, WEEK FOUR**.

For whatever reason Bucky still wasn't sure of because he had never gotten an answer that was anything more than a shrug and a few mumbled words, Clint owned a farmhouse. Right smack in the middle of nowhere – no animals, no working tractors, no nothing. It was just there, a house and a barn and a whole lot of ground and overgrown fields, and Clint owned it all.

“How do you even afford this place?” Bucky had asked him once. Clint had just smiled, said nothing, and turned to watch Lucky run around in the overgrown grass along with Kate and America.

Whatever the reason was though, Bucky didn't really care. Because every Fourth of July and every New Year's since he had met Clint, the farmhouse had been a blessing and a miracle of a safe place. The farmhouse was far away from everything and everyone, so the fireworks were distant. With a bit of music put on, you couldn't even hear it at all.

This year, just like the year before, Clint had extended the invitation to the New Year's gathering at the Barton farmhouse to the Howling Commandos. Unlike last year, the invitation was extended to Sam and Riley and Steve and anyone else who wanted to come ring in the new year without having to deal with loud fireworks exploding in the sky.

Bucky was sat on the counter in the kitchen, legs drawn up and crossed (thank you, yoga) and watching Natasha mix drinks, when Clint came rushing through, chanting, “No, no, no!”

Leaning forward slightly, Bucky followed him with his eyes into the living room, where Clint went straight for Kate. “You are not old enough to be drinking this,” he said, grabbing the glass of whatever alcoholic drink she had.

Kate blinked, then scoffed and jutted her chin out. “I am old enough to drink that,” she protested and reached out to grab the drink from him.

Except Clint pulled it further away and said, “You're like nine years old!”

“I'm twenty!” Kate reached out for it again, and Clint pulled it away again. She groaned. “What are you, my dad?”

“No, thank god, but this is my house and you're not old enough to be drinking this.”

She huffed and pouted, her fists going to her hips as she leaned into Clint's space a little. “If Billy and Teddy get to drink, so do I,” she told him.

Bucky couldn't see from where he was sitting, but he knew Clint's eyes bugged out of his skull.

“They're drinking?!” he yelped, and Bucky saw him sprint out of the room, heard him yell for Billy and Teddy, and saw said underage drinkers – along with David – come fast walking through the living room and out to the porch, where the Commandos were watching the firework lit sky and enjoying the quiet of it.

Slowly, after seeing Kate flop down on the couch next to America, Bucky turned and saw Natasha grinning just slightly to herself. “You gave them the drinks, didn't you?”

Natasha shrugged a shoulder and said, “They're non-alcoholic, Clint's being dramatic.”

“Tasha, you're the devil,” said Bucky, but he was grinning right along with her.

Half an hour later, Bucky found himself sandwiched between Dugan and Morita on the porch, when he saw Steve, Sam, and Riley stroll up toward the farmhouse.

Ever since they almost kissed at Sam's holiday thing, things had been a little awkward between him and Steve. Not that that stopped him from calling out, “Stevie!” and run off the porch to wrap his arms around him in a tight hug, though.

Because awkward or not, Bucky did still love him. With all of his heart.

Steve chuckled into Bucky's chest and hugged him back. “Hello to you too, Buck.”

Bucky was vaguely aware of Sam and Riley saying something as they walked passed them, but he just waved a hand at them, grunted in reply, and went right back to hugging Steve.

He didn't want things to be awkward between them, so if he just ignored that he almost kissed his best friend a few days ago, maybe Steve would ignore it too, and they could forget and move on and things wouldn't be awkward anymore.

“You wanna let me go sometime?” Steve mumbled into his chest, but he didn't make any move to let go.

Neither did Bucky. Not until he heard Dugan call out, “Is that the Steve we've heard so much about?”

Slowly, Bucky detached himself from Steve and turned to look at where all of his army buddies were pulling themselves to their feet and coming off the porch and toward them. He groaned and muttered, “Prepare yourself,” to Steve, who just snorted and elbowed Bucky in return.

Steve meeting the Commandos went just about as Bucky had expected it to; with all of them surrounding Steve and interrogating him, before they decided they liked him. The collective and silent decision was made when Steve said something that had Dugan laughing loud enough to be heard over the music America had put on in the house.

And Steve? Steve seemed to fit right in with Falsworth's arm slung over his shoulders and Dernier delighted to hear him speak French.

Bucky didn't take his eyes off of him. Not until Natasha stepped out onto the porch and sat down next to him, sending him a knowing look. He said nothing about it and just took the offered beverage, eyes back on Steve in a millisecond.

It was when Steve started shivering, that Bucky interrupted their conversation to drag him inside, and the younger crowd decided to occupy the porch for the rest of the night. Kate and America stopped for a moment to greet Steve, while the other five went behind them with a bottle of something probably alcoholic.

Bucky doubted Clint had seen them do it.

The music was turned up as the fireworks got louder in the distance, and the Commandos decided to show everyone why they had gotten that nickname; by singing loudly along with whatever song played, no matter if they knew the words to it or not. The tipsier they got, the less often they knew the words.

Clint pulled his hearing aids out around eleven and leaned his head on Natasha's shoulder, Lucky jumping onto the couch to curl up in her lap. She smiled at them both and put a hand on Lucky's head and an arm around Clint, her other hand scratching Clint's head. Clint hummed happily and nuzzled against her shoulder.

Bucky watched them for all of ten seconds, before he turned his attention to Steve, who was listening to Dugan tell the same old story from their time in the army, as he so often did. The one where they were heroes, but he always exaggerated and made it sound way more dramatic than it had been – because they had all been shitting their pants for the majority of the time, but Dugan always left that detail out.

Steve caught his eye from across the room just as Dugan made an exploding sound and showed with his hands how big said explosion was, and Steve smiled softly. Bucky returned it, not embarrassed that he had been caught staring.

Maybe he should take Natasha's advice and just go for it, his heart aching for him.

But no, fuck. He couldn't do that. The one time they had nearly kissed, he had run out of there like his pants were on fire just because he had been scared of what would happen if they did kiss. Still was, if he were being honest.

The countdown on the muted television hit ten minutes before midnight, when Kate stuck her head back inside.

“Yo, Hawk-guy!” she called out. When Clint didn't move from his place on Natasha's shoulder, she rolled her eyes and looked at Natasha. “He turned his ears off again, didn't he?”

Natasha nodded and said, “He got overwhelmed.”

Kate hummed softly, then asked, “Nudge him for me, will ya?”

Natasha did, and Clint shot up and looked around until his eyes landed on Kate. “Whassup, Katie-Kate?”

“Some dude in a suit is on the porch,” said Kate, her hands moving as she signed what she said. “Said you invited him. He brought some really hot people, too.”

“I can hear you!” America called from outside, followed by a few snickers from the others.

Bucky turned and saw Clint look confused for all of two seconds. It was like a light bulb turned on above his head, and he shot up from his seat. “Oh, Stark!” he said and smiled brightly, as he walked over toward Kate.

Bucky made a face and asked, “You invited Stark?” but Clint wasn't looking at him, wasn't hearing his hearing aids, so Bucky went unheard.

And sure enough, Tony Stark himself walked into the farmhouse a minute later, Pepper and Rhodey following behind him. “Happy New Year, people!” he exclaimed, arms spreading wide, and Bucky rolled his eyes at him. “Don't be like that, Barnicle. I made your arm, you should be happy to see me.”

“Oh yeah, I'm thrilled,” Bucky said dryly, although there was a part of him, a very small part, that was happy to see him. Not that he was going to say that out loud, he'd never live it down.

When Clint reemerged from the outside, he was wearing a pair of New Years glasses, that were covered in sparkly glitter and were a painful shade of pink. Natasha snorted at him when he plopped back down on the couch, but she leaned into the kiss that he offered anyway.

“Nice glasses,” Steve commented from next to Dugan, and Bucky shared a grin with him.

“Thanks,” Clint said, adjusting the glasses. “They're almost as hipster-y as yours.”

Bucky only managed to see Steve roll his eyes, before his view of him was blocked by Tony who decided to stand right in between them. Bucky glared at the back of his head and nudged his leg, but Tony didn't move and only kicked him back.

“Rogers,” said Tony with a snap of his fingers, and Bucky threw himself back onto his seat with a huff as he gave up on getting Tony to move. “Did you think about my offer? I found someone willing to publish the good Captain, if you-”

Pepper cleared her throat pointedly next to him, interrupting him, and she moved to stand next to him with a smile on her lips. They had a silent conversation, one that ended with Tony rolling his eyes and turning away in a grumble, and Pepper walking over to sit down beside Steve, Dugan politely scooting out of the way.

Well, at least Bucky's view wasn't blocked anymore. He couldn't hear what the two of them were talking about though, but it was easy to figure out.

Two minutes 'til midnight, Clint called the young people back inside, while everyone else stood up and got their glass ready, the countdown on the muted screen going down and down and down.

Bucky pulled his eyes off of the screen, when Steve came to stand next to him, a smile on his lips. He returned it and slung his arm around his shoulders, pulling him into his side.

“You got any new year's resolutions, pal?” Bucky asked, voice slightly raised because the music had been turned up and the people around them were talking loudly – Clint was counting down already, even though there was still a minute left.

“Only one,” Steve answered, a small and almost bashful smile on his lips as he looked up at him.

Bucky waited one second, before he asked, “You wanna tell me what it is?”

Steve shook his head. “Nope. You just gotta wait and see.”

“Ten!” Clint yelled suddenly, and Bucky turned to see him bounce in excitement in front of Natasha, who was watching him with a naked fondness.

“Nine!”

A few other people joined in, the couples moving closer and closer. Tony was already leaving small butterfly kisses on Pepper's cheeks. Sam was in Riley's lap on the couch, arms around his neck and eyes locked with each other, as they called out “Eight!” along with the rest of them.

Billy and Teddy were back outside on the porch, while America and Kate were shouting, “Seven!” louder than the rest of them.

Rhodey had a glass of champagne in his hand and an arm slung around Tony's shoulders, seemingly unbothered that his friend was paying him no attention, too busy kissing his girlfriend.

“Six!”

Bucky couldn't spot the rest of the younger crowd, guessed they had ducked out to join Billy and Teddy on the porch again. He saw Lucky laying flat on the floor by Clint's feet, ears turned down even though the sound of fireworks was so far away, Bucky doubted even a dog could hear it at this point.

“Five!”

Bucky joined in, tightening his grip around Steve's shoulders just a little to get him to join in as well.

“Four!”

Steve didn't join in.

“Three!”

Bucky looked away from the countdown on screen and the other guests, when Steve said, “Bucky,” softly to his side.

“Two!”

“Yeah?” he said, smiling down at Steve.

“One!”

The cheers from their friends and the round of wishes of a happy new year and people kissing their significant other drowned away somewhere in the distance, because there were a pair of soft lips pressing against his own, two artist hands cupping his face, and a short and determined man standing on the tips of his toes to kiss him smack on the lips.

It was short, barely lasted more than a few seconds, five at most, but it took Bucky's breath away. Knocked it right out of him, while his heart skipped a beat.

“Happy New Year,” Steve whispered incredibly close to his face as they parted, his lips brushing against Bucky's in a whisper of a kiss as he spoke. His face was red, a bright blush spreading across his pale cheeks, and he was gone before Bucky could fully process what had happened.

There were cheers around him, the sound of fireworks muted on the television, and Bucky raised his right hand to his lips, fingertips touching where Steve had kissed him.

Happy New Year, indeed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays, everyone. Hope you have a good one. <3
> 
> Rebloggable on [tumblr](http://hoechlbutt.tumblr.com/post/154086744638).


	17. January

**JANUARY – MONTH SEVEN, WEEK ONE – THREE**.

They didn't talk about it.

Bucky tried to bring it up – several times, in fact – but something always came in the way.

Like Steve suddenly getting swamped with work and having to spend days slumped over his drawing board, drawing until his wrist hurt and until he passed out from exhaustion. Bucky stopped by the times Sam couldn't and made sure Steve got something to eat and drink, and the whole time he was there it was like he was invisible.

Steve was so in the zone, he didn't even notice Bucky staying there for half the day, just watching him while his heart ached and his mind wandered back to their kiss for the billionth time.

When Steve's workload lessened after nine days into the new year, Bucky stopped by his apartment again, determined to talk about that kiss. Only, when he opened the door and stepped inside, he found Steve sick from having pushed himself too much, and Bucky forgot all about the kiss and just took care of him instead.

There was no rush, he decided as he put Steve to bed and kissed his warm forehead. They had all the time in the world.

Steve got better and more coherent, and Bucky thought about bringing the kiss up again. Only, now he never found himself alone with Steve anymore. Now, there always seemed to be someone else there, and after almost three weeks of this, Bucky was about to go out of his damn mind.

Bucky was heading down the street toward Steve's building on a day and time where he knew everyone else would be (or should be) busy, determined to finally talk about their new year's kiss, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn't stop walking, because nothing was going to interrupt him this time, and he answered the call without looking at the caller.

“What?” he bit out maybe a bit too harshly, but when he heard the voice on the other end, he decided it definitely wasn't too harsh. Maybe not harsh enough, even.

“You studied engineering in college, right?” Tony asked above the sound of machinery in the background on his end.

“You already know I did,” replied Bucky, crossing the street after looking both ways quickly. He avoided a group of guys walking huddled together and told Tony, “You've got my file, Tin Man. Read it.”

“Buckster, please, it's _Iron_ Man,” Tony corrected, and Bucky rolled his eyes. “And I'll have you know, I have read your files. Several times, actually. Because I do care about my friends, believe it or not.”

“Since when are we friends?” Bucky interrupted in a mutter, brows pinched together as he jumped onto the wet pavement. It had rained the night before, washing away the remaining snow.

“Since you laughed at my joke at New Year's,” Tony said simply. “I see right through your grump, Barnes. I know you secretly love me, just admit it. No one's gonna judge you. I won't even pass on your love confession, it'll just be me hearing. No one else will know, cross my heart and scout's honor and all that.” He paused for a moment, before he added, “Well, and Jarvis, too.”

Right. Jarvis. Stark's AI that still freaked Bucky out a little, yet simultaneously made his inner geek stupidly happy.

Bucky scoffed halfheartedly and dryly said, “Right, sure. Let's have a sleepover and braid each other's hair and paint our nails and talk about boys all night.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes, turning down the street as he walked. “Why are you asking me about my unfinished college degree, Stark?”

“Well,” Tony drawled, and there was something metallic clattering in the background. “Here at Stark Tech, we like to get a pair of fresh eyes on projects every once in a while, so we go scouting for potential engineers and scientists and all the various other brain-y people in the world. And I thought hey, I know a guy who might be interested in getting a job, so here I am. Calling you.”

Bucky stopped walking. “Did you not hear me when I said _unfinished_ college degree?”

Tony pft'ed and said, “I've looked at your grades. It doesn't matter that you didn't finish, you were brilliant and I'd love it if you came in for an interview, at least. Get a look at the cool machinery, maybe join me and the good Banner in the lab sometime.”

Bucky fell silent for a minute, his heart hammering and breath becoming shallow. He wasn't panicking, surprisingly. No, he was just... nervous. And maybe excited but most of all confused.

“It's been years since I've even looked at anything like it,” he told Tony after letting out a heavy breath.

“Stop trying to convince me not to give you the job, Barnes,” Tony said. “And don't think you can fool me. I know you've got science books in your shelves and probably spend hours on the web looking all kinds of things up. Am I wrong?”

Bucky hesitated. “No,” he finally admitted. Because the engineering and nerdy side of him had never faded away completely.

“So what do you say, Barnicle?” Tony's smile was audible, not smug but soft. “You, me, Pepper. Job interview in,” he hummed, “an hour or two?”

Bucky lifted his gaze from the small puddle on the ground ahead of him and looked at Steve's building only two minutes away. Taking the job interview would mean postponing talking to Steve about the kiss even longer, and he was damn sure he had been waiting long enough already.

He knew Tony would probably be more than willing to schedule in an interview another time, but...

“Yeah, I'll be there,” Bucky said and hung up. He looked at the building for another minute, before he turned around and headed for the subway.

If he and Steve were ever going to talk about that kiss, it was going to happen naturally. He decided, in that moment, to just give up on trying to force it.

**[** … **]**

Bucky got the job. His first day was the following Monday, and he didn't freak out.

Well, not too much.

When he came home and fell face first into bed, he felt good and proud of himself.

**[** … **]**

**JANUARY – MONTH SEVEN, WEEK FOUR**.

It wasn't until the end of the month before Bucky finally found himself alone with Steve again.

Steve wasn't sick, he wasn't swamped with work, there was no distractions anytime in the near future, it was the perfect time to bring up the kiss that had been killing Bucky for nearly a month now.

Except, Bucky had been sitting on the couch in his own apartment, feet curled up under his thighs and eyes watching Steve sketching on the other end of it for almost three hours now, and he hadn't brought it up yet. He had thought about it ever since Steve told him he was on the way over, had almost brought it up first thing when Steve let himself in, but he hadn't.

Because a thought had hit him when Steve had looked at him with a crooked smile on his lips as he walked through the door; maybe Steve didn't even want to talk about it. Maybe kissing Bucky had been a mistake, and Steve wanted to forget about it, ignore it. Maybe that kiss really had ruined their friendship a little, just like Bucky had feared something like it would.

It pained him to think about, but maybe Steve just simply didn't feel the same way as he did, and they should just forget the kiss ever happened.

Steve sighing heavily and throwing his pen onto his sketchbook brought Bucky out of his thoughts, and he refocused to see Steve scrub his hands over his face, moaning softly into his palms. “You okay there, Stevie?”

Steve groaned against his hands, kept them pressed to his face for a second longer, and when he dropped them heavily onto the sketchbook in his lap, there was a small pout pushing his bottom lip out. “I can't fuckin' draw,” he complained, glaring down at the sketch like it had personally offended him. “Nothing's coming out right, I hate it.”

Bucky shifted and scooted closer to him, eyes dropping down onto the half-finished drawing of the front cover of Captain America issue two. The first issue was already scheduled to be published by the end of February, officially and in stores, and Bucky was going to buy fifty copies.

“Looks pretty good to me,” he said honestly and with a half shrug.

“Buck, it looks fuckin' terrible,” Steve sighed. “I've got this pose all wrong and his face is shaped all weird. It doesn't even look like Cap anymore! Look at this.”

He pointed somewhere on the drawing and kept talking, kept complaining about his failed front cover, but Bucky had stopped listening by then. His eyes were focused on Steve's moving lips – pink and wet from where his tongue had ran across them while he drew and so, so kissable – and the sudden urge to lean in and kiss him overwhelmed him, made it impossible for him to pay attention to whatever Steve was saying.

Every word just went through one ear and straight out the other, as his eyes focused on those lips.

Bucky's pounding heart reminded him of how much he loved Steve – of how much every single cell in his body loved him and longed and pined for him. The kiss at New Year's had only made him want and long for him so much more, and it was driving him mad.

Mad with want and longing.

Sure, he wanted to talk about the kiss, wanted to know if it had meant as much to Steve as it had to him. But more than anything, he wanted to feel those lips pressed against his own again. Repeatedly, over and over again, until they were red and kiss-swollen. He wanted to hold Steve, to care for and love him as something more than a friend.

He wanted to be able to call Steve his, and for Steve to call him his, too. And for it to be just the two of them, together, side by side, for the rest of time if they could.

'Til the end of the line, that much he still wanted – but beyond that, too.

“Buck, are you even listening to me?” Steve was saying, whining and sounding frustrated. He was fully turned to him, looking right back at him, and Bucky didn't look away from his lips.

Instead, he listened to the voice in his head, that sounded oddly like Natasha and Clint, and shook his head no, before he raised his right hand to cup Steve's jaw and he leaned in, tilting his head just slightly to the one side.

He kissed him, heart racing in his chest and everything else lighting on fire as their lips touched.

Steve took in a shuttering breath against his lips, and Bucky moved his, kissing him firmer. It took him a second too long to realize one horrible, terrible, gut wrenching thing.

Steve wasn't kissing him back.

Panic pooled in the pit of Bucky's stomach and slowly, he pulled back. “I,” he started and then cut himself off to swallow thickly. Steve was looking at him with wide eyes, a blush painting his sharp cheekbones a pink color, his mouth hanging open in a slight gape.

Bucky had fucked it up, he realized in that second. He had done the stupid thing he feared he'd end up doing and this was going to cost him his best friend. This was going to ruin everything and he was going to lose Steve.

He had fucked it up like the giant and hopeless idiot he was.

“I'm sorry,” he finally managed to croak out. He scooted back a little, suddenly desperately wanting to go hide in his room and never come out ever again. “I'm so fuckin' sorry, Steve. Fuck, please don't-”

“Stop talking,” Steve said, interrupting him. He took Bucky's face in his hands and pulled him back in.

Before he knew what was happening, Steve was kissing him, and Bucky felt the panic wash away the second Steve's lips slid against his own and those artist hands went into his loose hair and pulled him closer.

Steve kissed like he fought; with everything he had, and Bucky let himself become his punching bag.

It wasn't rough, though. No, it was sweet and passionate and firm, and Bucky felt breathless when Steve's fingers went into his hair and a tongue swept across his bottom lip. He felt breathless as he wrapped his arms – both of them – around Steve's thin waist and pulled him closer, neither of them breaking the kiss for even a second.

They kissed and kissed and kissed, and Bucky felt like he was floating, his heart soaring with happiness at the little sounds Steve was making against his lips. He wanted to smile, wanted to laugh, wanted to pick Steve up and swing him around in joy, but his lips were occupied and his arms were too busy just holding Steve close.

They kissed for what felt like forever yet still not long enough,before Bucky reluctantly pulled back.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he said and let out a steadying breath, licking his lips as he opened his eyes. Steve looked dazed and completely wrecked, lips red and wet, and Bucky knew he had to look the same. “We should talk about this,” because he didn't want a repeat of New Year's and have this be another thing that led to nowhere and more question than answers.

Steve blinked a few times, then let out a heavy breath and nodded, while his hands slowly left Bucky's hair. “Right,” he said, his hands pausing around Bucky's neck before moving away completely. Bucky missed the touch and closeness, so he reached out and took one of Steve's hands in his own.

“Yeah, we should,” said Steve. He fell silent for a moment and dropped his gaze to their joined hands before he continued. “There's, uh... There's actually something I should tell you.”

Bucky blinked at him, suddenly nervous that this was going to be something bad. Swallowing, he nodded and said, “Okay.”

Steve took in a deep breath and didn't meet Bucky's gaze when he started talking. “I should probably have told you this a long time ago, I don't know why I didn't. I guess, I just didn't want to deal with all the stupid questions people always ask.”

He lifted a shoulder in a half shrug, then laughed nervously. “And I don't know why I'm nervous. I mean, this isn't exactly the first time I've done this and you're my best friend, so this shouldn't be so fucking hard.”

Steve was rambling, Bucky noticed. He bit back the urge to interrupt, the urge to tell him he could tell him anything, and just let him do it in his own time. This was clearly important, and Bucky gave him his undivided attention.

“I guess,” Steve continued. “I guess I should just say it how it is.” Finally, he lifted his gaze and locked it with Bucky's, the look on his face almost defensive when he said, “I'm trans.”

Bucky looked at him for a minute, before his face softened and he scooted closer to him, squeezing the hand in his. “I'm sorry,” he finally said as he wrapped his other arm around Steve and pulled him closer.

“For what?” Steve asked, his voice tight.

“For making you feel like you couldn't tell me this sooner.”

“Buck, no.” Shaking his head, Steve pulled back a little to look at him. “That wasn't because of you. I just didn't-”

“Want to deal with stupid questions,” Bucky finished for him. “I know, and I'm sorry that I made you feel like you'd have to deal with them if you came out to me. But Steve, you being trans doesn't change how I feel about you, you gotta know that.”

Steve looked at him, eyes shining and flickering between Bucky's and his lips. “And,” he whispered, “how do you feel about me?”

Heat went straight to Bucky's face. The words were stuck in his throat for longer than he wanted them to be, but he managed to get them out without taking his eyes away from Steve's. “I love you, Steve.”

Steve froze, eyes widening slowly with surprise. “What?”

Bucky's heart was pounding in his chest, but it wasn't with panic. “You're the bravest man I've ever met, and I'm so proud of you,” he told him, letting go of his hand to put it on his cheek. “You're amazing and passionate and so fuckin' strong, you make the rest of us look weak.”

“Bucky, you're not-”

“Let me finish, you punk.” Bucky smiled softly at him, as Steve promptly shut up, his cheeks flushed. “I'm so fuckin' happy you came out to me, that you trust me enough to let me know this part of you,” he said and leaned in to kiss him softly, whispering a thank you that had Steve's blush growing stronger.

When he leaned back again, he locked eyes with him and continued. “I can't promise I'll never ask any stupid questions, and I give you full permission to punch me when I do. I ain't never gonna push you into answering or doing anything you're not comfortable with, and I will always love you, no matter what. 'Til the end of the line, Stevie.”

Bucky didn't get another word out, before Steve suddenly leaned forward and shut him up with a kiss – a firm and passionate kiss, that took Bucky's breath away more than the one before, and Bucky let himself be swallowed by it.

It only lasted for a minute or two, before Steve leaned back and whispered against his lips, “Say it again.”

So Bucky did, voice lowered to a raspy whisper. “I love you.”

Steve smiled softly at him, his brows pinched as his eyes filled with tears, and Bucky gently caressed his cheek as he leaned forward to kiss him again. “I love you,” he repeated in a soft whisper as he kissed the tip of his nose. He repeated it again as he kissed his cheek, and again when he kissed his forehead.

Steve sniffled and brought a hand up to grab the one resting on his cheek, but he didn't pull it away and only kept it there. “I love you too, Bucky,” he whispered after a moment, eyes locking with Bucky's.

Bucky's heart soared at the words, and he instantly returned the wide and happy smile that Steve gave him. And when Steve leaned in and kissed him passionately, Bucky was home.

They kissed for minutes and minutes, time both slowing down and speeding up, and Bucky never wanted it to stop. He never wanted to not feel Steve's lips slide against his own, for Steve's tongue to stop curling around his and taste him. He never wanted Steve's hands to stop grabbing his hair and touching his cheeks and chest and anywhere they could reach, mapping him out.

He never wanted to not have Steve in his arms, a comforting and warm weight against him that felt _right_.

He didn't want it to stop, ever. This was home, and this was heaven.

It did stop though, when Steve leaned back with a happy chuckle. “Can't believe I'm actually making out with you right now,” he said, slender fingers running along Bucky's kiss-swollen and red lips.

Bucky smiled at him, heart in his eyes, and kissed the fingers touching his lips. “Neither can I,” he told him in a whisper. “Been wanting to kiss you for a long time, it feels surreal it's actually happening.”

Steve returned the smile, his fingers stilling on the corner of Bucky's lips. “How long?”

“Since the day I met you,” Bucky told him honestly.

Steve stared at him, then snorted and raised a disbelieving brow. “Seriously? Buck, I was an ass to you.”

“You were a cute ass,” Bucky argued. He blinked, then grinned and let his right hand wonder down to Steve's lower back, while he leaned in and muttered against his lips, “You've got one too.”

“Oh my God,” Steve laughed, his face going bright red the moment Bucky's hand touched his ass. Still laughing, Steve ducked his head and rested his forehead on Bucky's shoulder. Bucky smiled down at him, heart swelling with happiness and love.

They didn't start kissing again. Bucky wanted to, he never wanted to stop, but Steve curled up in his lap, rested his head on his shoulder, and placed soft kisses along his jaw, and Bucky felt himself relax, muscle by muscle. Steve grabbed his hand, the left one, and their fingers intertwined.

“Can I ask you something?” Bucky asked a while later, voice lowered and heart hammering almost nervously in his chest.

“Is this one of those stupid questions I can punch you for?” Steve asked, thumb lightly touching the plates of Bucky's hand.

Bucky huffed in amusement and said, “Nah, those are for later.” He paused, then said, “Alright, it might be a stupid question, but I just gotta know.”

Steve lifted his head from his shoulder and looked at him. “Okay, ask away.”

“Who knows? About you, I mean. I just don't wanna accidentally out you to someone who doesn't know.”

Steve stared at him for a moment, and for that moment, Bucky was afraid the question really was stupid and he was about to get punched.

But then Steve smiled and kissed him. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For saying that. No one's ever really bothered with that before. It's not really a problem anymore, because I pass, but I didn't use to.” He shrugged, a crooked but soft smile on his lips. “People just didn't know what to do back before I got on hormones and before I went through surgeries, and they ended up outing me while trying not to misgender me or offend me in any way.”

Bucky frowned. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” said Steve with a shake of his head. “They learned.”

Bucky nodded slowly and leaned in to kiss him, just because he was allowed to now. “So, Peggy knows?” he guessed.

Steve nodded with a hum. “Yeah, she was the second person I told, my mom was the first. Angie, Thor, Sam, and Riley know too.”

“Not Tasha and Clint?”

Steve gave him a look. “Do you really think I'd tell them before I told you?”

Bucky shrugged, then when Steve looked at him harder, he shook his head. “No, I don't.” He paused for a moment, then asked, “Do you want them to know?”

Steve looked at him for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Eventually, yeah. Not yet, though.”

“No, yeah, of course. Coming out is _your_ thing, so in your own time.” Bucky paused just to kiss the tip of his nose, Steve's soft smile spreading wider. “Just so you know, they wouldn't care. I mean, they'd care 'cause they care 'bout you, but it wouldn't change anything for them.”

Steve kissed him, and Bucky didn't hesitate to kiss him back. “I love you,” Steve told him in a whisper, lips brushing against his with each words.

“I love you too,” Bucky told him back without a second of hesitating.

Steve smiled, kissed him once more, before he leaned back and asked, “Can I ask you a question now?”

“Yeah, 'course.”

“How long have you loved me?”

Bucky shrugged a shoulder and said, “A while. Only figured it out at Halloween, though.”

Steve stared at him for a moment, face slowly changing into a surprised expression. “You've known for months and didn't tell me sooner?”

“I was scared!” Bucky countered, cheeks heating at the confession. “I was scared you didn't feel the same way, and I didn't wanna fuck up our friendship. You're too important to me for that.”

“You're a fucking idiot, Buck,” Steve muttered as he hung his head, shaking it.

Bucky scoffed and asked, “Like you're one to talk. When did _you_ know, huh?”

Steve visibly hesitated, shifting where he sat in Bucky's lap. He mumbled something, but Bucky couldn't hear him. “Steve, as someone who's hard of hearing, you should know how annoying it is when someone mumbles.”

Steve let out a heavy sigh and leaned forward to bury his face in Bucky's neck. “I knew at Thanksgiving,” he finally said, words slightly muffled against skin but Bucky heard him anyway.

He couldn't help it, a laugh just flew out of him. Steve was glaring at him, but he just kept laughing, giddy and happy and content.

Bucky kissed him, smiling too much for it to be more than a quick peck, and he said, “We're both idiots, apparently.”

Steve's smile appeared slowly as his glare washed away. “Yeah, we're perfect for each other,” he said fondly.

And with Steve cuddling into his chest and kissing him so sweetly it felt like a silent love confession, Bucky couldn't agree more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to the anon that indirectly pushed me to make Steve explicitly trans. I would've regretted it if I hadn't, so thank you.
> 
> Rebloggable on [tumblr](http://hoechlbutt.tumblr.com/post/154086744638).


	18. The End

The door was unlocked when Sam turned the handle and pushed it open. Lucky came bounding up to greet him the second the door was opened all the way and before he had even taken more than half a step into the apartment, his tail wagging and claws clicking against the floor.

Sam crouched down, took Lucky's head in his one hand, and scratched his head and down his neck with his other for a minute, before he stood back up and headed further into the apartment.

The living room area was empty, he noted as he glanced that way. The pillows usually put neatly up in the Bucky Barnes fashion were flattened against the arm of the couch, like someone had used them to sleep on. The blanket usually hung over the chair on the other side of the table was carelessly thrown over the back of the couch.

Sam frowned. There was no way Bucky would willingly let his living room look like that. Not unless something had happened, or Clint had had another sleepless night of video game playing and Bucky just hadn't gotten out of bed to see the mess yet.

(Although, in Sam's eyes, it wasn't really that messy at all. But for Bucky, Sam knew this _was_ messy.)

Frown stuck on his face and Lucky trotting after him, Sam ducked into the kitchen and found Clint half asleep against the counter. His arms were crossed, mouth hanging open in a silent snore, and his eyes were closed. The coffee machine was brewing in front of him.

“Dude,” said Sam and shoved lightly at him.

Clint startled awake and flailed for a second, before he regained his footing and turned to look at him. He blinked rapidly a few times, then rubbed at his eye and yawned. “Hey, Sam. You want some coffee?”

“Nah, I'm good,” Sam said with a quick shake of his head. He gestured back into the living room area and said, “Bucky not home or what? Living room's a mess, to his standards.”

Clint shrugged and stretched, before dropping one of his hands to the top of Lucky's head, when he sat by his feet. “No idea, man. It looked like that when I came home late last night. His bedroom door's been closed all night, too. Haven't seen him.”

Sam blinked. “What, and you didn't think to go check on him? See if he's okay? What if he had another setback, huh?”

“If he had another setback, there'd be holes in the walls, one of the neighbors would've called me to complain about the noise, _and_ Lucky would've been able to tell.”

Sam paused for a moment. Clint did have a point, but it didn't settle the worry that gathered in his chest. “I'm gonna go check on him,” he decided in a mutter and turned to leave the kitchen.

“Coffee will be waiting for you when you get back!” Clint called out after him, and Sam only just heard him mutter, “unless I break the pot again.”

Bucky's door was closed, just like Clint had said. There were no holes punched in the wall around it, and no other evidence of any sort of break down. Something must have happened though, considering the living room was a mess. And it was the fact that Sam didn't know what that something was that worried him.

“Bucky?” he called out softly and rapped his knuckles against the wood of the door. “You awake in there, man?”

There was a muffled sound on the other side, but Sam couldn't make out if it was Bucky saying something or something else, so he reached for the handle. “I'm coming in,” he warned before pushing the door open.

And he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight he was met with.

Bucky was in bed, alright; back turned to the door and long hair a mess atop his head. But he wasn't alone. No, Steve was laying right behind him, spooning him with a skinny leg thrown over his hip and an arm thrown over the metal sleeve covering his stump and his face buried in his neck.

Steve was fast asleep, snoring softly against Bucky's shirt, but the moment Sam had opened the door, Bucky had stirred awake and turned to look at him. And Sam was grinning widely and toothily, as a bright blush spread across Bucky's features.

At least they were both clothed – even if Steve was only in his boxers and Bucky wasn't wearing pants and the duvet had fallen down to around their bare legs.

“Well, well, well,” Sam said and crossed his arms as he leaned against the door frame. Steve stirred in his sleep, maybe waking a little, and made a grunting noise of protest, when Bucky moved to sit up, his face flaming. Sam grinned wider. “What do we have here?”

“Fuck off,” Steve muttered as he shifted further over onto Bucky's side of the bed, taking over the empty space Bucky left behind when he stood up. He buried his face in the pillow and clumsily pulled the duvet over his head.

Sam took his eyes off of him to look at Bucky, brows raised and grin only growing wider the darker Bucky's blush became. “You two a thing now?”

“Shut uuuup,” Steve complained under the duvet, but both of them ignored him.

Bucky shrugged and looked away, as he stepped over to his dresser to get out his running clothes. He said nothing, and Sam's grin softened into a smile.

“Alright, man,” he said and stepped back out into the hall. “Say bye to your boyfriend first, Barnes, then come out. No rush.”

He was halfway turned, when he called back over his shoulder at them; “And congrats on getting your heads out of your asses! About damn time.”

When Sam stepped back out into the kitchen, a smile still firmly in place on his lips, there was a steaming cup of coffee on the kitchen counter, and Clint was downing the rest of the coffee straight from the pot.

He went over, smacked Clint's arm, and said, “Dude! Bucky's got Steve in his bed.”

Clint choked on the coffee, spluttered for a second or two, and pulled the pot from his lips, before he turned to look at Sam with wide eyes. “Dude, are you fucking for real?” he exclaimed, a wide smile spreading on his lips a second later, when Sam nodded. “Holy shit!”

Sam only just managed to grab the half empty coffee pot that was shoved against his chest, and Clint took off sprinting down the hall, presumably toward Bucky's room.

“Congrats on the sex!” he heard Clint yell, a split second after the door slammed against the wall – probably because he slammed it open.

“Get out, asshole!” Bucky yelled right after, and Sam grinned to himself when he heard something crash in the hall and Clint yelping.

Putting the pot on the counter, Sam reached into his pocket for his phone and snickered when he heard Steve crankily yell, “Shut the fuck up, I'm trying to sleep!”

Sam send a text to Natasha and Riley, telling them about the whole thing.

**[** … **]**

Sam and Clint had to physically drag Bucky out of his bedroom, because he refused to leave before Steve gave him a kiss, and Steve refused to get out from under the duvet and kept yelling at them to shut the fuck up.

And Bucky loved him. Even grumpy and cranky and half asleep, he loved him.

Clint made a gagging noise and Sam cooed, when he mumbled it against the duvet after kissing the top of Steve's head. Bucky flipped them off and let himself get dragged out.

The park was as full as it always was this early in the morning, just a few fellow vets going for a morning run, a few dog owners that Lucky sprinted to immediately and nearly ripped Clint's arm off in the process because his leash hadn't been taken off yet, and a few birds welcoming the sun by chirping their hearts out.

Bucky ran and ran and ran, his thighs burning and sweat making everything stick to him. He passed Clint three time and Sam twice. On the second time passing him, Sam shouted, “Just fucking go home to your boyfriend, asshole!” after him.

Bucky did another half a round around the park trail, before he did exactly that, flipping Clint off when he passed him for the fourth time.

The asshole was making kissy faces at him, he had it coming.

It was barely past nine in the morning, when Bucky stepped back into the quiet apartment. There was a soft snoring coming from his room, and he smiled as he leaned against the door frame and looked at Steve sleeping in his bed.

Steve had curled himself around the pillow Bucky had slept on during the night, face buried in it and duvet pulled up to his ears, and it was the cutest and most perfect sight Bucky had ever laid his eyes upon.

His heart ached, and he wanted to go over and crawl back into bed and stay there with Steve for as long as they could. But he was sweaty, so he went to the bathroom and took a shower instead. Steve was still asleep when he stepped back into the bedroom, clean and damp hair pulled into a ponytail and sweaty running clothes replaced with sweatpants and a loose tee shirt.

“Stevie,” Bucky whispered as he leaned over the bed and ran his right hand through Steve's sleep-tussled hair. “Wake up.”

Steve grunted, face scrunching up. A hand came out from under the duvet, slapping at Bucky's still running through his hair as he grumbled incoherently.

Bucky rolled his eyes and tugged the duvet down a little. “C'mon, you punk, get up.”

“G'away,” Steve grumbled and pushed his hand away, before he pulled the duvet back up over his head.

Bucky stared down at him for a minute, considered just leaving him be. But no, he wanted to spend his morning with Steve. “Get up,” he said and tugged the duvet back down, despite Steve's whining protests, “or I'll pick you up and carry you.”

The threat was risque, because Steve would punch him if he ever tried to pick him up, he knew that.

Steve let out a heavy sigh and grumbled, “You only got one arm, Buck.”

“I'm wearing my cyborg arm, Stevie.”

Steve just whined more and rolled over onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow and making no effort to get up.

Bucky leaned over him, placed a soft kiss to the top of his head, and whispered into his good ear, “I'll make you breakfast if you get up.” Another kiss. “And we can make out, if you want.”

A second passed, then three more, and then Steve shifted and rolled over onto his back, eyes opened up into slits and lips pulled back into a sleepy grin. “You're waking me up way too fuckin' early just to make out with me?”

Bucky shrugged and returned the smile. “Yeah, but it also got you awake, so success.”

“Right, 'cause it wasn't the bird assholes from earlier and you poking at me that woke me up at all,” Steve said dryly, a hand coming out from under the duvet to slide around the back of Bucky's head, careful not to ruin the ponytail.

“So, you're saying you don't wanna make out?” Bucky asked, giving him a teasing look.

Steve just hummed and pulled him down, kissing him in lieu of replying verbally. Bucky happily leaned into it, but he immediately pulled back when Steve tried to deepen the kiss.

“Okay,” he said, making a slight face and kissing the tip of Steve's nose quickly. “Making out _after_ you've brushed your teeth.”

Steve let out a heavy sigh, but didn't protest when Bucky stood back up. “I don't have a toothbrush here, Buck.”

“I've got an extra,” said Bucky, walking backwards out of the bedroom and keeping himself facing Steve.

“We're at a toothbrush at each other's place level already?”

He smiled at Steve who was now sitting up in bed, duvet sliding down his bare chest. He took a second just to admire the art inked onto his skin, the smile on his lips turning fond because a sleepy Steve was a cute Steve, and fuck, he loved him with his whole heart.

Him being trans had changed nothing. Hell, it may even have made Bucky love him more, because Steve had trusted him enough to let him know that part of him. And Bucky was so goddamn happy, he couldn't stop smiling, was still smiling when Steve opened an eye and looked over at him

“I think we passed toothbrush level when you gave me a key to your place, Steve,” Bucky told him.

Steve yawned and ran a hand through his messy hair, eyes falling closed again. Bucky watched him and smiled, the smile only getting softer when Steve opened his eyes again and looked at him. “Does that mean we're at clothes sharing level, too?”

Bucky quirked a brow at him. “You gonna steal my clothes?”

Steve lifted a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “I might.”

“Well, maybe I'm gonna steal your clothes too, then.”

Steve stared at him, deadpan. “If you can fit into any of my clothes without ripping them, I'll be impressed.”

Bucky pouted just slightly, huffed, and left the bedroom to the sound of Steve's chuckling. That was one of the very few bad things about Steve being short and skinny and wearing clothes several sizes smaller than Bucky did; Bucky couldn't steal his clothes like Steve could steal his.

But when Steve walked out into the kitchen, bare feet and bare legs covered only by the legs of his boxers and wearing one of his shirts that hang loosely over his torso – well, Bucky decided he could live with that.

Absently continuing to scramble the eggs on the pan, Bucky turned to him and smiled softly. “I think I like you in my clothes.”

Steve smiled at him and went right into his space and kissed him. Bucky kissed him back without a single second of hesitating.

While Bucky finished up in the kitchen, Steve moved to the living room and wrapped himself up in the blanket they had left out on the couch the night before. When Bucky joined him on the couch with two plates of freshly made breakfast, Steve leaned into him immediately and Bucky wrapped himself around him.

The breakfast was forgotten on the coffee table after just a few bites, and Bucky enjoyed the minty taste of Steve's mouth instead of the warm taste of eggs.

It could have been hours or it could have been minutes, before their morning make out session was interrupted, when the front door opened carefully slow. Bucky pulled back from Steve's lips, said lips just moving to his neck instead, and looked at Clint coming warily into the apartment with Lucky following behind.

Lucky paid them no attention, though. He just trotted straight into the kitchen, panting and obviously worn out from the run.

And when Clint spotted the two of them on the couch, Steve halfway into Bucky's lap and kissing his neck and Bucky flushed but unashamed, he sighed heavily. “This is what it's gonna be like from now on, isn't it?”

Bucky felt a breath of air against his neck when Steve huffed a laugh, and he kept his face carefully deadpan when he asked, “I'm sorry, _how_ many times have I had to walk in on you and Tasha practically fucking on the couch or the kitchen table?”

Clint blinked at him, then shrugged and said, “Touché. I'm just gonna-” He gestured to his hearing aids and pulled them out, then darted down the hall while averting his eyes from them.

Left alone again, Bucky tilted Steve's head back up and kissed him again. They were interrupted once again, when Lucky bounded into the living room and jumped on them, whining until Bucky let him lick their plates clean. The breakfast had gone cold anyway, and he could always make him and Steve some brunch later.

The following day, Bucky took Steve out on a proper date, and things were okay. Even through bad days and terrible nights and Bucky asking a few stupid questions and the occasional fights, they were good.

(He got a text from Peggy a few days later, containing nothing but two selfies: one with her two fingers pointing at her eyes, the other with them pointing at the camera, both with serious looks on her face. He smiled and rolled over to kiss Steve still asleep on the other side of the bed.

Peggy never did end up burying his body anywhere.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the end. Thank you so much to everyone who read, commented, and/or left kudos! <3
> 
> Rebloggable on [tumblr](http://hoechlbutt.tumblr.com/post/154086744638).


End file.
